


We Met in Paradise

by Wind_Ryder



Series: It's Just Not The Same [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Art, College, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Moving On, Music, Original Characters - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trip, Three Legged Dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to: The Sky is Falling</p><p>“What do you think about going to college?” Pierce asked. </p><p>“College?” Bucky shifted his grip around his drink. “Not sure if I’m cut out for college. Don’t know a lot about a lot, been a while since I even cracked a book. ‘M sure things’ve changed.”</p><p>“I heard you play the piano beautifully.” Bucky shrugged. He never really thought much of his ability to play. </p><p>“I was just goofin’ though. Not real all that talented. Never really wrote anything.” Steve would argue that he wrote all the time. When he ran out of the urge to play accompaniment to radio tunes, rehashing old classics, or learning new pieces that he’d never listened to before, Bucky would let his fingers tap across the keys in whatever pattern sounded best. </p><p>Pierce smiled at him and shook his head. “You have a gift, James, you should use it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm213](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm213/gifts).



> This is a sequel to "The Sky is Falling." Key plot points include: Bucky and Steve were together when the plane crashed. When they woke up, Bucky was brain damaged and was not himself. Steve struggled through depression and anxiety in an attempt to look after him. After the Battle of New York, Bucky began to get better and healed from the crash. Neither are okay. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to bookworm213, who was recently accepted into college! Congratulations, and I hope that you enjoy!

Pierce had suggested it first. They’d been at a charity event; Steve in full Captain America regalia and him in a fine suit. Even their yellow Labrador, Stevie, was attending. He sat at Bucky's side, leaning his head up towards Bucky’s fingers so he could scratch his ears. Pepper had a silk bowtie made just for the lab, and it sat primly on his collar.

 

The laughter around Stevie’s name had died down after the first four hours. Bucky had explained the story at least twelve times already, and he half wondered if he should have Stevie’s life history printed on a card to hand out to those who wanted to know how he was named. The lab, still undersized, missing one arm, and more than willing to pitch a fight even if the odds were against him, really couldn’t have been named anything else. Steve thought it was funny, eventually. Usually he just rolled his eyes and didn’t think much on it.

 

Pierce had drifted over once the masses had mostly subsided, rescuing him from a debutant that had been fawning over Stevie so much that Bucky had run out of polite attempts to escape. He offered to refill Bucky’s drink, and then led him out onto the terrace so they were out of the public eye.

 

Steve saw them leaving and offered him a weary smile in understanding. After the freeze, Bucky hadn’t felt much like dancing. He hadn’t felt much like interacting with people in general. He was tired and low energy, and he didn’t want to stay in public view. Steve understood, even if he still pushed Bucky to step out and about more often.

 

When Pierce first brought up the topic, Bucky half suspected that Steve put him up to it. It seemed like something that Steve would do. Bucky liked Pierce. He reminded him of his dad, old and idealistic. His dad had always believed in him, and Pierce exuded the same faith. “What do you think about going to college?” Pierce asked.

 

“College?” Bucky shifted his grip around his drink. “Not sure if I’m cut out for college. Don’t know a lot about a lot, been a while since I even cracked a book. ‘M sure things’ve changed.”

 

“You’ve decided not to join SHIELD, yes?” Pierce asked him. Bucky shrugged his shoulders, and turned his head as one particularly loud socialite let out a ridiculous shrieking laugh. It reached them even out on the balcony, and Bucky caught a glimpse of Steve was smiling patiently at her. His back was stiff and he looked wildly uncomfortable. He’d never been one for parties like these. He enjoyed spending times with his friends, sure. Steve was never more relaxed than when he was surrounded by a pack of cohorts, shooting the breeze and nudging elbows. These types of events were too much for him, though. He didn’t like being fake, and there was a certain level of insincerity that was necessary here.

 

Earlier that day, and even for the past few months, Bucky’s routine had been generally static. He would wake up early, take Stevie for a walk, sit by Brooklyn Bridge, and read the classifieds. Sometimes he’d circle something and talk to Steve about it when he got home. Sometimes he would circle something and not talk to Steve about it at all. He’d take the paper and fold it over, throwing it out without a second thought.

 

When he got home, he’d sit at his piano and play. Stevie would curl on his side by Bucky’s feet, occasionally getting in the way of the pedals. He’d put the radio on most days, and play accompaniment to the songs that played.

 

Steve was usually gone. He had meetings with SHIELD, missions to attend, and public appearances to showboat at. Bucky was lucky if they had dinner three nights out of seven. Usually he just crawled into bed, alone, and called his lab up to curl around. Sometimes he remembered to eat. Most of the time he didn’t.

 

“Yeah, I don’t feel much like fighting anymore.” He didn’t. He was tired of fighting. He missed his friends. He missed his family. Fighting never got him anywhere, and frankly – he didn’t think it was getting Steve anywhere either.

 

They’d fought more often than not about his work. Steve wanted to keep serving, and he wanted Bucky at his side. Bucky didn’t think there was a point in serving, and he was furious Steve kept trying.

 

“I heard you play the piano beautifully.” Bucky shrugged. He never really thought much of his ability to play. Before the war, he’d played in saloons just to get by. Now, he played just to keep from thinking. “Have you thought about playing professionally?”

 

“I’m not that good,” he replied immediately.

 

“You used to play for money, yes? These days you’d be considered a professional on that alone.”

 

“I was just goofin’ though. Not real all that talented. Never really wrote anything.” Steve would argue that he wrote all the time. When he ran out of the urge to play accompaniment to radio tunes, rehashing old classics, or learning new pieces that he’d never listened to before, Bucky would let his fingers tap across the keys in whatever pattern sounded best. To Steve, that counted as writing music. If asked, he could even recreate those songs.

 

He’d never written anything down, and he’d never tried to teach anyone else his songs. They weren’t very good, either. Most were just scales that drifted from one side of the keyboard to the other. Pierce smiled at him and shook his head. “You have a gift, James, you should use it.”

 

“I don’t know, Mr. Secretary. Probably not gonna work out so well for me. Everyone seems to like a different kinda music these days, not really my place to change all that. Ain’t trying to cause waves.”

 

“Think about it, son.” Pierce clapped him on the shoulder. “There are plenty of wonderful schools that you could go to, plenty of colleges you could attend that can help you master your craft.”

 

“Don’t know about that. I just play for myself.”

 

“How do you feel when you play?”

 

“Calm…relaxed…good.” Bucky shrugged, and licked his lips.

 

“Even if it does nothing more than put things into perspective for you, give you more ways to express yourself, isn’t it worth encouraging that to continue?”

 

“I don’t know. I should probably talk to Steve about it. He went to art school,” Bucky paused. He took a breath and shook his head. “Before all this, in any case,” he continued.

 

“Well if you need any help with the applications, let me know. I’ll put in a good word for you.” Smiling at the man, he nodded his head.

 

“Thanks, Mr. Secretary,” he said. Pierce nodded and put an arm around his shoulders in a loose one-armed hug.

 

“Ready to go back inside?” Pierce asked him.

 

“‘Suppose I should do my patriotic duty and drag Captain America out of the fire,” Bucky agreed. Pierce laughed.

 

“Suppose so.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The party wrapped up sometime after midnight. Stark arranged for a car take them home, and Bucky fiddled with Stevie’s bowtie as he sat between his knees. Steve was sprawled across the seat, yawning intermittently as he rubbed at his eyes. Bucky had to step in when a few women were getting a bit too hands on, and Steve had flushed through the remainder of the evening as Bucky shook his head at him.

 

“It’s not like you don’t know how to say ‘no,’” Bucky muttered disdainfully. Stevie flopped his head onto Bucky’s knee and he scratched his lab’s ear in response.

 

“It’s different,” Steve sighed. He unclipped his cowl and set it to the side, stretching as he tried to work out tight muscles. “I can’t just tell them no. Tony explained it. Or Pepper did. Someone from SHIELD too.”

 

“I’m sure,” Bucky said. “Hey…what do you think about goin back to school?” Steve turned and looked at him, brows furrowing as he thought.

 

“What, back to _art_ school?” He sounded incredulous, and Bucky grimaced as he wrapped his arms around his chest. Sometimes he thinks it was easier when he didn’t speak properly and couldn’t convey what he meant very well. Steve seemed to work out how to understand him without words, and he didn’t stick his foot in it all that often. Now, they couldn’t manage to get through a simple conversation without one of them getting irate. He could already feel irritation building under his skin.

 

“Yeah, pal, art school. College. You know, gettin’ a degree.” Steve rubbed his chin.

 

“I don’t know, I don’t think the world much needs more artists these days.” Bucky nodded his head and pressed more firmly against the car door.

 

“Suppose they need soldiers more, huh? Or are you a spy these days?” Steve sighed.

 

“Bucky-” Steve’s phone chirped, and Bucky scowled. His nails dug into his sides. Steve pulled the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. He squinted at the screen, and then tapped his fingers across it. It chirped a few more times, each sound snapping through his synapses. Stevie sensed his agitation and put his front paw on his leg. Shifting, Bucky pulled the dog up on his lap.

 

His suit would be ruined, but he didn’t think Tony actually cared about the suit staying in good condition. Hell, last time Bucky looked at his bank account he had nearly had a coronary. He could buy a whole shop of suits himself if Tony allowed him to. Apparently Tony didn’t think he knew how to handle his money properly, though. He managed everything for him, and Bucky was left nodding his head and accepting that Tony was probably right. He really didn’t know much about anything anyway.

 

Steve set the phone down and licked his lips. His back tightened, and Bucky sighed again. “You’re going on a mission,” he said flatly.

 

“Yeah…I gotta leave in the morning. We’re flying out to-” he cut himself off.

 

“It’s classified,” Bucky muttered. He’d heard the excuses dozens of times before.

 

“You could come with me?” Steve offered.

 

“Not interested,” Bucky replied. The car pulled up in front of their apartment, and Bucky hooked a leash onto Stevie’s collar. He thanked the driver and stepped out of the car.

 

“Bucky…Bucky wait!” Steve struggled to follow after him, but Bucky was determined. He entered the building and trotted up the stairs without so much as thinking about stopping.

 

He made it to the apartment before Steve even reached their floor, and he knew he was being childish when he slammed the door in Steve’s face. He walked firmly into his bedroom and locked the door behind him. Steve was there a few minutes later, knocking tentatively.

 

“Buck? Bucky? C’mon, let me in. Please? Bucky?” Bucky had his electric keyboard set up by the bed, and he turned it on. He raised the volume as high as it would go, and he slapped his fingers onto the keys. He drowned Steve’s knocks out in moments, and Stevie groaned as he flopped on his side to sleep.

 

Bucky played well through the night, and into the morning. Sometime around five, he heard Steve quietly tell him through the door that he was leaving. He didn’t say goodbye in return. He only stopped playing when he heard the door close and Steve walk down the stairs.

 

Then, he let himself cry.

 

He wanted to go home.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Steve came back from his mission.

 

He left on another.

 

He came back.

 

He left on another.

 

Bucky stopped playing his piano, because every time he sat down at it he couldn’t shake the thought of going to school from his head. It wasn’t like he was doing anything here. He was sitting around, existing in an apartment and a time period that was nothing like what he wanted.

 

He tried to go to a dance hall once. He spent the evening standing in the corner, uncomfortable with the music and even more uncertain as to how he was meant to find a partner. All the phrases he used before were dated and apparently ‘sexist.’ He’d offended more than a few women by trying to be a gentleman, and he wasn’t quite ready to change himself more than he had to.

 

Steve announced that he was going to take a few days off so they could spend some time together, and Bucky didn’t hold his breath for that inevitable vacation. He stayed in bed for most of the morning, shivering under a blanket and staring at the wall. It was painted with some rich expensive non-lead paint that was child friendly. He wondered how much paint a child would have to eat in order to get sick from licking a wall. He wondered how people discovered children could get sick like that.

 

Steve went out on a run, and then came back. Bucky was still in bed. He had the blankets pulled up over his head, blocking out the light from the window and the sound from the street. “You okay?” Steve asked him. Stevie was curled up over the sheets and his tail flapped against his leg. Steve nudged the dog slightly, an then ended up scratching his tummy as Stevie flopped onto his side. “You wanna get up?” Steve asked as he poked Bucky in the side. 

 

“G’way.” 

 

“C’mon…finally got a chance to spend some time with you.” Bucky burrowed his head deeper into the bed. “I’ll make pancakes.” 

 

“G’way.”

 

“I’ll even find some eggs for you. You want ‘em scrambled or over easy?” 

 

“Steve.” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“G’way.” Steve sighed and did as he was told, though he cheated and called Stevie out for breakfast. As dedicated as the dog was to Bucky, food usually could distract him for a few minutes. Bucky let out an outraged sound as his dog betrayed him for his kibble, and Steve laughed as Bucky’s poked his head out from under his covers. 

 

“You want breakfast too?” Steve asked him with a grin. “I’ll shake the box and everything.” He gave Stevie’s food bag a wiggle as an example, and the sound of kibble bouncing along the sides was enough to make the lab lean on his back paws and give a small hop. Drool was dripping to the floor, and Steve waggled his eyebrows at Bucky invitingly. 

 

“You’re a punk,” Bucky muttered. It felt like something fast approaching life before the war. It made his heart ache.

 

He snatched his covers and wrapped them around him like an over-puffed cape. Steve smiled happily, though, and led him to the breakfast table where he set about making food for them all. Stevie was poured his bowl first and the lab swallowed down half of it without pausing for a breath. He looked up at Bucky when he went in for the second half and jumped a bit as though to share his excitement. Bucky let one hand trail down to scratch his dog’s back, and tangled his fingers into pale blonde fur. 

 

Steve handed Bucky a mug of hot cocoa freshly boiled from a pot on the stove. Tony had gotten them a Keurig, but it sat on the counter untouched. Steve turned back to the stove to work on his batter. As he worked, Bucky’s hands trembled around his cup. Even wrapped in his blanket and wearing thick flannels, Bucky’s eyes continued to glance the thermostat every few minutes. It was set at 75, but it didn’t feel that warm.

 

He was cold constantly. He’d be perfectly fine one minute, and then suddenly the hair on his arms would rise, and gooseflesh would erupt. He’d shiver unconsciously for nearly an hour before he put a shirt on, and within minutes he’d be too hot and have to take it off. Steve felt it too. For him, they’d come and go in waves. He’d put on a sweater, then remove it when the sensation passed. Bucky didn’t understand why for the life of him: he couldn’t seem to stay warm. 

 

They’d spoken to Bruce about it once, when they’d visited Stark and him on a day trip. “It’s not uncommon,” he’d said. “You were frozen for seventy years…even with your skin and muscle regeneration, that level of frostbite is bound to leave some kind of mark.” The phantom chills persisted, and there was truly nothing they could do to stop it. 

 

“You know running helps,” Steve suggested when he turned and saw Bucky shivering under his blanket.  

 

“For a few minutes,” Bucky replied, teeth chattering as he breathed in the smell of chocolate. He walked Stevie every day, and it did help. It did make him feel a little better. Until it stopped.

 

“Keeps the blood pumping at least,” Steve continued. He settled a plate in front of Bucky, and he looked at the food with a blank expression.  

 

“Keeping my blood pumping isn’t the problem,” Bucky replied darkly. Steve had requested he see one of the SHIELD therapists after he woke up. Initially it was just to get him up to speed with the 21st century, but he continued to see new professionals every few weeks. Each one had a different diagnosis they wanted to label him with. Depression, anger, and anxiety were the common contenders. He’d already been referred to at least four therapists and was routinely encouraged to at try  _something_  by twelve other people. He had smiled politely at each request and declined every time. He had ninety years worth of mess to sort through, and no one in their right mind should have to put up with him. He was managing just fine on his own. Some days were just harder than other. 

 

Steve had a tendency to make them worse. He was pushing Bucky to get better too. Bucky just didn’t know how to get better. “Don’t say things like that, Bucky,” Steve asked quietly. 

 

“Do you think we can die?” Bucky asked him. He’d been wondering that for a while. Each mission that Steve went on led Bucky to question it more and more. Sometimes Steve would come home battered and bruised, a bullet wound healing in his shoulder. Sometimes Bucky would look at him remember blood and bullets, falling, and the feeling of failure as it blinded him to all else. 

 

“Yes,” Steve replied stiffly. He turned to pour more batter into his pan and turned the heat on low as he watched it bubble up. His eyes were glued to the pan, and Bucky’s gut churned within him.

 

“Do you think we’ll grow old?” he asked. He watched Steve’s fingers tighten around his utensils. He knew Steve was thinking of Peggy in her nursing home, just as Bucky always thought of Rebecca and her brood of grandchildren. Bucky hadn’t managed to bring himself to visit her, nor any of friends’ graves. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t know how to put things right. He abandoned them for seventy years. They’d lived and died without him.

 

“You’re older every minute,” Steve finally replied.  

 

“Not what I meant.” Steve shook his head and cracked a few eggs into a separate skittle as he monitored his pancake’s progress. 

 

“I don’t know Buck. I haven’t gotten that far yet.” It’d felt like it had only been a few months since the war, since Bucky was hunched over letters from home and trying to work out which sister was dating whom. Maybe that was the point. He should have died on the ice. They both should have. His fingers started to shake as his skin felt colder than ever before. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

 

“You okay?” Steve asked him.

 

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Your pancake’s burning.” Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. He turned to look at his pancake and stared at it for several seconds.

 

“Damn.” He didn’t move to fix it. They both watched as it turned black.

 

Eventually Steve threw it away. They didn’t talk about it again.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Bucky kept up with the bird feeding tradition. During his morning walks, before he reached the bridge, he would wrap up in a too-warm coat, take Stevie to the park, and toss bread at the ducks. Eventually he’d head to the bridge and sit by it, watching pigeons as they hopped across the grass. Steve came with him one day, and they sat side by side without talking about anything. It had started to feel like not talking was normal. 

 

“I should get a job,” Bucky murmured. He took a deep breath. “Bet you I’d be real good at construction now. I could save all sorts of time for them workers at the docks.” 

 

“They use machines now, Buck. It’s inefficient to have workers do it all,” Steve reminded him quietly. Bucky’s face fell and he bent his chin over his knees. Stevie sat patiently at his side, ignoring it when a pigeon hopped in front of him and bit uselessly at some of their dog’s fur. He’d seen so many birds in his life, Stevie honestly couldn’t be bothered with them. He just watched it go about in its pigeon way, and exchanged long suffering glances with Bucky until the bird eventually hopped off. 

 

“Still,” Bucky tried. “Bet you there are laborers doing something somewhere.”

 

“Unions have gotten real big nowadays. Even more than it once was. Things are all different in how they’re run. Did you know that you can only be hired to do one thing? If you’re hired to dig a ditch, you can’t help someone pick up a box because that’s against your job description. You’ll get fired for that, or de-unionized, or something.” 

 

“You’re kidding,” Bucky frowned. Unions had just started picking up traction in their time. He’d never imagined that they’d have grown that much that quickly. Though, seventy years wasn’t particularly quick. He grimaced.

 

“No.”

 

“How do they get anything done?” 

 

“A lot of standing around and staring at people.” 

 

“But…that doesn’t make any sense….” Steve shrugged.

 

“That’s how it is. So you wanna dig a ditch or carry a box?”

 

“I don’t know, some days I feel like digging some days I feel like carrying, what’s it matter?”  Bucky angrily tossed the remains of the bread in his hand to the birds and they flocked like maggots to a corpse. He cursed and held his hand up to keep his head from getting smacked by feathers and talons, and turned to walk away. Steve and the dog hurried after him. “Why aren’t you gonna go back to school?” Bucky asked him.

 

“Don’t really see much of a point,” Steve admitted. 

 

“What, you got a union for that too now? You can only hold the pencil, but you can’t put it to the paper?” 

 

“No, that’s not it. You know that’s not it. It’s my job-it’s…well, people expect me to be Captain America.” Bucky’s hands clenched. Sometimes Steve Rogers forgot that while he was Captain America, Captain America wasn’t Steve Rogers. “I just can’t see myself sitting around a group of students talkin’ ‘bout art. I’m just not a student anymore, hell- I’m barely a soldier.”

 

That sounded deep even for Steve, and Bucky let out a slow breath. He was hurt, and angry, but so was Steve. “I’m supposed to have a plan for everything,” Steve went on. It was more than they’d spoken in weeks, and Bucky felt absurdly uncomfortable by it. “But I don’t have a plan for this, for any of this. I don’t even know what the next ten minutes look like, let alone the next ten months. I could get a call right now and all our plans’ll change. So I don’t know, Buck. I just don’t know. But I have a responsibility, don’t I? To look after them? To help them?”

 

“It’s not your job to save the world, Steve. The war’s over. Time to go home.” Bucky stuffed his hands into his pockets, and wished Steve’s face didn’t look as tragic as it did. If Bucky didn’t know better, he’d say Steve was about to cry.

 

“There’s no such thing,” Steve said. “There’s no such thing as home. This is it. This, here. I’m Captain America, and will be until the day that I die,” Bucky flinched. “Even if I went to art school, what then? Say I go, say I make something. As soon as someone discovered that Captain America made it - it would never receive the critique and consideration it deserved. It would be over amplified and made into a mockery of what it should always be about. I’ll never get out of that shadow, Buck. It’s who I am now.”

 

“That’s bull shit, Steve. You’re allowed to step down. You’re allowed to call it quits.”

 

“Captain-”

 

“I _hate_ Captain-fucking-America. He’s killing you. He’s going to get you killed, and what then? What am I supposed to do then? Huh? One day it’ll all stop. One day it has to. You ain’t gonna be a soldier for the rest of your life.” Bucky snapped. “Shouldn’t’ve even been one for as long as you were. The war’s over.” 

 

“There’s another one right now.”

 

“You gonna go fight Muslims instead of Nazis?” Bucky asked sharply. Steve sighed.

 

“You don’t understand.” 

 

“I don’t understand.” Bucky repeated, staring at him incredulously. “ _I_ don’t understand why you want to join the army? Why you want to serve? Why you do what you do?”

 

“Bucky-”

 

“ _I_ don’t understand?” Bucky laughed, a great barking sound that had Stevie looking up at him in confusion. “Yeah. That’s right. I never understand nothing.” 

 

“Bucky-”

 

“Just leave it, Rogers. Talk to someone who understands.” Bucky threw his hand up in the air and took hold of Stevie’s leash. He walked away, leaving Steve behind. Steve, to his credit, didn’t follow him. Bucky didn’t know why he bothered. Steve was never going to change.

 

He walked to Stark Towers and was let into a workout room that Tony had set up. Stevie lay down and watched as Bucky found a punching bag. He didn’t even bother to wrap his wrists and knuckles. Instead, he hit it and again until something popped. He wished it was his hand. 

 

It wasn’t. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Bucky didn’t go home that night. Or the night after. Or the night after. Stark snorted when he saw his dedication to avoiding Steve, and eventually offered him a chance to test out his alcohol tolerance. He claimed it was scientific research, and Bruce was going to help, but Bucky doubted him from the onset.

 

They set up a row of drinks and Bucky drank as much as he possibly could. He didn’t remember much of that evening, though he was conscious enough to realize that at some point his drinking partners had turned traitor and had dragged him back to his apartment.

 

Steve was standing at the door with wide eyes as he took him in. He had one arm over Bruce’s shoulders and one arm over Tony’s. “Turns out, you two  _can_ get drunk. You just have to be  _extremely dedicated_  to the process,” Tony informed Steve cheerily as they guided Bucky inside.

 

“And how dedicated was he?” Steve asked. He sounded exhausted.  

 

“More dedicated than I’ve ever been,” Tony muttered as they dragged Bucky to the bathroom and deposited him on the tiles. “I swear he cost me a fortune in booze. Do you know how much it costs to drink nothing but whiskey every minute of the day for four days straight?” That sounded excessive. Bucky was sure it wasn’t that bad.

 

“It wasn’t quite that bad,” Banner cut in, and Bucky grinned. He liked Bruce Banner. “There was some regulating that took place.” 

 

“There was tequila involved, and vodka at one point,” Tony continued, shaking his head. He was counting off the types on his fingers. Bucky wondered if he’d run out eventually. “What’d you say anyway?” 

 

“That he didn’t understand why I wanted to be a soldier,” Steve replied truthfully. The bastard. Both Tony and Bruce blinked at that, and Tony scoffed. 

 

“Yeah, that’s out of my pay grade. Have a nice night.” He ruffled Bucky’s hair on his way out, and wiggled his fingers as he departed Steve didn’t stop him. Banner made to follow, before pausing. 

 

“He thinks the world of you, Steve,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I know you haven’t exactly been doing so well adjusting-”

 

“Me? I’m adjusting fine,” Steve frowned. “He’s the one who isn’t adjusting well.” Bucky wanted to hit him for it. That wasn’t fair. Banner shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. 

 

“Right. Well…either way. I know that you  _both_ aren’t adjusting the best, but he’s trying to help.”

 

“Help with what?” Banner sighed.

 

“Never mind. You should talk to him when he’s sober.” Tony came back then, bringing Stevie in with him. 

 

“Air-Bud got locked in the car,” he said simply. “You ready to go?” He asked Bruce. Banner nodded, quietly said his goodbyes.

 

Once gone, Steve crouched down at Bucky’s side in the bathroom. He scooted so his back was against a wall, and he sighed heavily. He lifted his hands and rested his brow against his palms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I know that you’ve been there from the beginning. I know that you know all of this. I know that…I just…” He choked, and his voice rattled. “Damn it.”

 

“I’m going to apply to school,” Bucky told him. Steve’s head snapped up. His face was stained with tears. “I’m going to go.”

 

“You always go where I can’t follow,” Steve murmured.

 

“There’s no 4F stopping you this time, punk,” Bucky whispered. “There’s no one stopping you now except yourself.”

 

“I can’t stop. Not now.”

 

“Guess we’re going to be apart again, huh?” Bucky asked. Steve grit his teeth.

 

“Where are you going to apply?”

 

“I don’t know. Haven’t figured that out yet.” Steve nodded.

 

“Let me know when you do.” Standing up, he left Bucky alone. Bucky could hear him in their bedroom. He slept on the bathroom floor that night. He didn’t want to bother Steve, and frankly- he didn’t know what to say.  


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky’s parents had been saints. His father, George, had presided over the Barnes clan with the kind of devotion and strength of heart that would make any man feel as though he had a lot to prove. Sometimes, when Steve spoke about doing good and always making the right choice, Bucky could hear his father’s voice overwrite Steve’s words. In some ways, that had made it easier to follow Steve into battle. In others, it made it that much harder. 

 

Bucky’s sister, Rebecca, was still alive when all was said and done. She had taken up her position as the head of the family after Bucky’s assumed death and had passed on their father’s ideals into the lives of her children and grandchildren.

 

SHIELD  re-introduced them to each other delicately. Fury had sent over some kind of counselor to explain the situation and to put things into prospective for the Barnes-Proctor family. Rebecca, apparently, hadn’t taken the news well, and had needed to lie down afterwards. The next day, when the counselors and agents returned to speak to her again, she’d needed to stop intermittently between explanations before she finally nodded her head and politely requested that they leave her to her thoughts. 

 

Two days later, she dialed the number they left behind and requested that they bring Bucky to her door. Steve Rogers, she continued, could also come if he felt like paying her back that dollar she lent him seventy years ago for something no one could quite remember the details of. 

 

Steve told Bucky about the visit, and he’d frozen. They hadn’t spoken much since Bucky’s announcement. Steve had kept to himself, and Bucky had tentatively started to look through glossy paged magazines with pictures of smiling students on the covers. Pierce sent him information when he asked for it, and Bucky was trying to narrow down choices.

 

He had known that Rebecca was out there, but the thought of actually seeing her seemed a bit too much to handle. Now, with her fully aware of his presence, not seeing her seemed all too rude and inappropriate. He didn’t want to hurt her, and by staying away- he knew he would. He’d sat on the floor by the couch, hugging Stevie to his chest as he thought about their visit.

 

Even on the day they’d meet, Bucky hadn’t known what to wear. He hadn’t even worked out what to say. He put on a pair of slacks and a good shirt, and he debated about shining his shoes before he decided that he’d never shone his shoes for Rebecca before and he shouldn’t start now. Steve dressed much the same, and he was a comforting presence at his side.

 

They were still on unsteady ground, but Steve was always there for him when he needed help, and Bucky knew that it would have been hell or high water to keep Steve away now. At least that hadn’t changed. “You’re going to be all right,” Steve told him. “Everything’ll be fine.”

 

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Bucky nodded. He'd have felt a lot better with his dog at his side, but they had agreed that Stevie might be too much now. The thought of his lab staying at home by himself made Bucky's heart pound harder.

He licked his lips and nervously approached the door of Rebecca’s home. Steve stood by him as he knocked, and one of the grandchildren answered. It was a girl with dark brown hair. She looked up at Bucky with a wide mouth, before stepping back and motioning for them to come inside. Bucky’s hands found his pockets and he had to force himself to breathe as he followed the girl to the sitting room where his sister was. Rebecca had done well for herself after all these years. Her home was four times the size of their childhood apartment, and she was clearly at peace with the world around her. 

 

She looked up at him as he approached. She was old and grey. Her hair was tinted blue with age, and her face was wrinkled and worn. She was over eighty years old, now, and he lost the ability to speak. He fell to his knees at her side and rose trembling hands to cup her aged face like when they were kids. She lifted her hands in a mirrored his action. Her wrinkled fingers pressed against his cheeks and Bucky trembled. Her skin was tissue-paper-thin, and he could count her blood vessels as he touched her cheeks. She looked nothing like their gran’ from years ago. She always had wanted to maintain her individuality, and here she clearly managed it. Her body was built like an aged tiger ready to pounce. There was still life in her bones, even if her heart couldn’t keep up with the struggle. 

 

She started crying, and then he was crying, and then Steve was crying, and then it seemed like everyone was crying and no one knew what for. All of Rebecca’s extended family was there. Here children, her grandchildren, their close acquaintances, and even some in-laws.

 

The younger children seemed entirely perplexed by the idea that someone who had made their grandmother cry would even be welcome to stay in the house, while the older children pretended that they weren’t interested in the scene before them. Their parents were all a bit teary eyed, and were whispering amongst themselves fervently. Bucky ignored them all.

 

He pulled his little sister into his arms, and she pulled his head down to her shoulder and they held each other in a brutal mockery of the last embrace they’d shared before he’d gone to war. 

 

“Why’d you have to leave, Bucky?” Rebecca asked him, and his throat was still too closed up to respond. Steve stood at Bucky’s side, unnoticed and unrecognized. He’d been close to Rebecca once upon a time. Of all of Bucky’s sisters, Rebecca was the one that they spent the most time with. She had dreams of being an actress and was constantly trying to sneak into the theater to watch a picture. Steve played chaperone more than once when someone tried to get a bit handsy, and at least a dozen fights were started in defending Rebecca’s honor.

 

She hadn’t needed it. She knew how to punch a man just as much as Bucky did. She had no qualms about striking a boy between the legs, and she proudly declared that she was going to take care of herself one day. Bucky and Steve never argued with her on that. They couldn’t. She was simply too headstrong.

 

Rebecca used to think that Steve was going to be her husband one day. She looked at him with the same kind of youthful infatuation that most children had at some point in their life. Steve was a good nine years older than Rebecca, but it hadn’t mattered one bit. She routinely cast him as her Prince Charming in her childhood games of make-believe, and Steve had grudgingly gone with it. Bucky used to tease him about it constantly. That is, until Steve had flushed and muttered about how embarrassing it was that the only girl who liked him was Bucky’s kid sister.

 

They’d gotten into a fight about that. Bucky had taken it upon himself to defend Rebecca’s honor, and Steve had decided Bucky was being unreasonable. They’d laughed about it afterwards, but at the time it had been quite the serious bone of contention between them.

 

Now, it seemed Rebecca’s infatuation with Steve had long since passed. She hadn’t even noticed him beyond Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky doubted Steve minded. He felt Steve reach out and place a hand on his back. “I’m going to get you two some space,” Steve whispered, before stepping back and suggesting in his best Captain America impression, wouldn’t it be grand if everyone just went outside. The family, grudgingly, and with no small amount of awe, trotted out to the backyard.

 

Even alone, though, the siblings were barely capable of forming words. They wept and hugged, and Bucky eventually managed to chant her name with increasing desperation, but no more than that. The clock ticked time away, and Bucky could hear the sound of children laughing in the distance. Rebecca reached out and touched his dog tags that he wore under his shirt, pulling on the chain until they revealed themselves to her. She traced her fingers over the tags, and held them in her fragile hand. 

 

“They never sent them back,” she recalled. Bucky tried not to think about the letter that must have been sent to his family informing them that he had died in the line of duty. There had been no body for them to bury. He tried not to think about his sister, too young at sixteen, having to know that he’d died and left her with no stability or assistance. He tried not to think of their parents. He tried. He failed. His heart compressed. More tears came. “Did it hurt?” Her voice was like a whisper. He shook his head when the words still refused to form, and she hugged him tighter once more. 

 

He didn’t remember freezing. He remembered fighting Schmidt, being thrown backwards, hitting his head…and waking up in a helicarrier. The rest of the memories came afterwards. He remembered being damaged. He remembered being hurt, but those moments seemed more like a familiar dream than actual events.

 

Bucky’s eyes drifted to the side. He could just make out the sight of Steve’s head by the back door. He was watching them from the corner of his eye, distracting the rest of the family as best he could. It was a horrible favor to ask of him. Bucky knew Steve wanted to be there, talking to Rebecca and reconnecting with her as well. He had to ask Steve to forgive him for this. It was such a burden to request.

 

“They said you froze,” she murmured softly. “They said your plane crashed into the arctic, and that you froze there, but when they found you and you were melted off - you were alive.” 

 

“I don’t remember the crash,” Bucky managed quietly. He rubbed his fingers into his right eye, ignoring the drying tears and instead focusing on trying to breathe properly. He pulled back so he could look at her. Their arms stayed pressed against each other. He couldn’t let her go just yet. Not fully. “One day it’s 1945 and we’re getting ready to bring down Hydra, the next…it’s 2010 and aliens are attacking New York.” He shivered against an imaginary chill and he cautiously met her gaze. “I just saw you two years ago.” She had ribbons in her hair and knobby knees with a narrow waist that was starting to grow taut from all the dancing she’d been practicing. She had just started to move passed her endless pining of Steve, and had started to find Mark Lindy from Johnson’s Bakery particularly interesting. She had slammed the door in Bucky’s face while he’d teased her about it, and she’d written him a letter only six months ago that asked when he was going to be coming home, and wasn’t the war over yet? 

 

He rubbed at his eyes even harder and sucked in a breath of air that was neither refreshing nor helpful. His parents and other siblings were dead, he’d missed everything about this sister’s life. He wasn’t there for her marriage, or her first child, and his only consolation prize for so much lost time was a hyper-vigilant Labrador, Steve Rogers, and a seemingly endless supply of money he had no idea what to do with. It wasn’t enough. 

 

“When-how did-our parents?” It wasn’t cohesive, but Rebecca seemed to understand. She squeezed his arm.

 

“Ma died in ’63, and Da died in ’72. To be honest, I’m surprised he lasted that long without her, but he pulled it together until the end.” Bucky couldn’t imagine his father without his mother. The pair of them had been so obviously in love with one another, so devoted to each other, that he had never seen them apart. That he lasted nine years was surprising to him as well. 

“You did right by dad,” Bucky told her softly. “He’d’ve approved.”

 

“Thank you, B-Bucky.” She started crying again, and Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Becca…I-”

 

He was losing control. He pulled back from her, and he sent a look towards Steve. His friend was there in an instant, crouching at his side and placing a hand on his shoulder. Bucky met his eyes. He needed to go. He couldn’t be here anymore. He needed to leave. He needed-

 

“Hey Becks, how’re you?” Steve’s hand was firm on his shoulder. It grounded him to the earth. He clenched his fingers around Steve’s wrist and stared at him desperately. Rebecca’s attention was on Steve now, and Bucky watched the tightness in Steve’s eyes. He didn’t want to be here either. He was upset. Bucky could feel his pulse in his wrist.

 

“Oh Steven, you really did grow up, didn’t you?” Steve nodded and drew Rebecca into a one armed hug. He met Bucky’s eyes over her head. Bucky didn’t know what he looked like, but it had to be bad. Steve motioned towards the door with his head, and like a coward: Bucky ran.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Alexander Pierce had been one of the few SHIELD affiliates that Bucky had ever been able to like. Steve was constantly surrounded by Agent-such-and-such since their ‘rise from the dead,’ and Bucky had been acquainted with several by now. He didn’t mind Clint or Natasha. But all of the ‘Avengers’ seemed to be in a league of their own. As far as 21st century friends went, they were all right.

 

Bucky first met Pierce when Steve had been signing his paperwork to become an official SHIELD agent. Steve had been pulled into one office, and Bucky had sat in a chair in a stylized waiting room as he Steve worked. Pierce almost passed him by, but he caught sight of Stevie and asked if it would be all right to pet the dog. Stevie was almost always with Bucky. They were never far from each other’s sides.

 

“You don’t see a lot of three-legged dogs around,” Pierce said as he scratched Stevie’s ears. It had been right after the operation, and so Stevie’s fur hadn’t grown over the stitching on his side yet. Bucky, fresh from recovery, but still a little off kilter, just nodded. “Are you all right, son? You look a little pale.”

 

“I’m all right, jus’ waitin’ I guess.” He turned towards the office Steve was closeted up in. Pierce frowned.

 

“Come on, they’ll probably be a while. How about I get you a cop of coffee? Something to eat? I’m sure we could find a bowl for your pup to drink from.” Steve had asked Bucky to stay close, but it had been three hours. Bucky was tired of sitting still, and he wasn’t going to change his mind about re-enlisting, not matter what dirty tricks Steve pulled.

 

“Okay,” he agreed. Pierce had been kind. He did what he said, getting him food and drink with no questions asked. He didn’t presume anything, didn’t offer anything, didn’t even give an opinion on much. Instead, he just nodded when Bucky tentatively started talking, and was there when Bucky admitted that he felt so tired of everything.

 

“I miss my family,” he said softly. “Steve…he was an only child and his ma passed six years ago.” Bucky stopped. He shook his head. “I mean-”

 

“It’s all right. I know what you mean,” Pierce told him gently. Bucky let out a sigh of relief.

 

“Maybe I’m being bad, but I guess Steve’s used to it? Not having anyone I mean.” Even as he said it, Bucky knew it wasn’t fair. “No…that’s not true. I don’t know. I just…I miss my family. Always thought I’d either die in the war or come home to ‘em. Never thought I wouldn’t do either, and now they’re dead and gone without me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Pierce refilled his coffee, and Bucky shrugged.

 

“It’s not your fault,” he replied.

 

“No, but I can still feel empathetic towards you.” Bucky forced a smile.

 

“My baby sister’s still alive. She’s older than me now,” Bucky laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

 

“How do you feel about visiting her?”

 

“Steve thinks I should.”

 

“Steve isn’t you. How do you feel about visiting her?” Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Afterwards, Pierce kept in touch. They exchanged numbers, and spoke every so often about things that were never SHIELD or Steve related. Sometimes Pierce would send him a gift in the mail. He now had a series of photographs from the 1940s that made him smile, a collection of music scores and albums that never failed to put him at ease, and a beautifully warm coat that blocked out the chill even on the coldest of days.

 

Bucky enjoyed spending time with Tony and Pepper, he liked to talk to Natasha and Clint on the phone, and he found Bruce to be one of the most relaxing individuals he ever met. All of that didn’t seem to matter much when it came to the need to run.

 

He didn’t want to talk to them about Rebecca. He didn’t want to talk to Steve about her either. He just wanted to run as far as he could, as fast as he could, and try to convince himself that somehow he could turn the clocks back and just set things right. 

 

He was in Jersey by the time he realized his phone was ringing. Steve had begged him to carry a phone with him wherever he went, and Bucky had agreed to do that. It didn’t mean he always answered it. It didn’t mean that he ever realized that someone was trying to get in touch with him.

 

He stumbled against a tree, lost and not even close to being out of breath. Cars passed him by, and Bucky leaned over his knees as he gasped. His hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out the phone. He stared at the number on the screen.

 

“Mr. Secretary?” he asked as he answered the call, his voice shaking. There was a pause.

 

“James? Are you all right?” Bucky breathed in slowly.

 

“I-” he cut himself off. Looking around, he blinked. “I don’t know where I am.”

 

He didn’t, either. He had run from Rebecca’s house and he had just kept going. He hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t stopped to consider consequences. He just ran and ran. His mind had cleared, and he was grateful for that. Now, though anxiety was started to slip through him.

 

Steve had gotten used to being whatever the serum made him, but the more reminders Bucky faced, the less pleased he became. He didn’t want to have this…whatever it was. He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t want to be special, strong, or powerful. He just wanted to be him; him, in the 1940s, planning on going home.

 

Pierce was quiet for a few moments, and then he spoke. “Do you want me to come get you?” Bucky sniffed loudly and rubbed at his eyes.

 

“I saw Becca,” he admitted. He stumbled away from the road more and sat by a tree. “I saw Becca, and it-it was-”

 

“James, do you need me to come get you?”

 

“Yes,” he admitted just as the tears started. “I don’t want to go back.”

 

“No one’s going to make you go back. I’m going to run a trace on your call, okay? I’ll find you. I promise. Do you need me to stay on the line?”

 

“Yeah…yeah. Don’t go.”

 

He didn’t. It took almost two hours, but Pierce stayed on the line. He narrated everything he was doing, and when the quinjet touched down nearby, he was out in a flash. Bucky let the phone drop to his side, and Pierce crouched beside him. “Are you all right?” Pierce asked him.

 

“Becca’s older than I am,” he gasped. He knew he was being hysterical, but he couldn’t help it. He shivered badly and squeezed his eyes shut. “She’s got grandkids the same age as me, and I…I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

 

“James, can I hug you?” Bucky stared up at him, and nodded wordlessly. Pierce wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held him close.

 

His dad said goodbye like this. He’d put his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, told him he loved him, and made him promise to take care of himself. Bucky reached up to hold him back, and they clung to one another like lifelines in the dark.

 

“You’re going to be all right. I promise you’re going to be all right. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, all right. You’re going to be fine. You can do this. You can do this.”

 

“I ran away. She’ll hate me now, and Christ – is she even really my sister? Is she-am I? What the hell am I doing?”

 

“You’re doing the best you can. It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because I know you. You’re hurt, and you’re scared, but you’ll be all right. I promise you. It’ll be all right.”

 

Bucky almost believed him. They stayed like that for nearly twenty minutes before he could make his legs work. Pierce helped him into the quinjet and took him back to DC. Steve and Rebecca could wait for another day.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Pierce had a daughter named Pamela. She was thirty-seven and was much too old for her childhood bedroom in his house. When they arrived in DC, Pierce led Bucky to his daughter’s room, and turned down the bed for him. “Get some rest, and check your messages. I’m sure Captain Rogers is worried about you. If you need anything, I’ll be right down the hall.”

 

He was right. When Bucky looked down at his phone, he saw almost forty missed calls, and nearly twice that many text messages. It seems like everyone was trying to get a hold of him, from Steve all the way to Natasha. He sat on Pamela’s bed and he curled over the phone.

 

The first few messages were from Steve alone. Steve assured him that everything was fine, and that his sister wasn’t upset. Then, he started asking if Bucky was all right. Then, after twelve messages, he started to sound progressively more worried. Bucky didn’t listen to the rest.

 

He dialed Steve’s number, and wasn’t surprised when it answered on the first ring. “Bucky?”

 

“Hey, Steve,” he replied.

 

“Lord above, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine. I’m with Secretary Pierce.”

 

“Pierce? What are you doing with him?”

 

“He called…and we started to talk.” There was a pause.

 

“You picked up his call, but not mine?”

 

“Wasn’t like that Steve…” Bucky sighed. “Didn’t know who was callin’ just picked it up when it rang, and that was it. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“DC.”

 

“ _DC?_  You’re in _DC?_ ”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, listen, I’m gonna be a few days okay.”

 

“Bucky, what the hell? You just ran out the door, I thought you’d be right back. I told Becca-”

 

“I don’t want to know. Please. I can’t. Not right now. Okay?”

 

“You never ran away from anything in your life, you gonna start now?” Bucky laughed at that. He couldn’t help himself. The laugh just jumped from his mouth without conscious thought. Steve fell almost deathly silent on the other line.

 

“No pal,” Bucky whispered. “It’s never been me not running away. It’s always been you. You gotta know, Steve…I ain’t as brave as all that. And right now? I do gotta runaway. I surely do.”

 

“I’ll come down there and-”

 

“No. No, just give me some time okay? I just need some time.”

 

“Bucky-”

 

“I’ll talk to you later, all right?” He grimaced and shook his head. “Look after Stevie for me.”

 

“Course I will,” Steve promised. “You know that.”

 

“Yeah…yeah bud, I do.” He hung up the phone and lay back on the bed. He was so tired of this.

 

He didn’t know how to fix it.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky went home the next morning. Pierce offered to drive him up, but he shook his head. He promised he could make it on his own, and he purchased a train ticket north. He called Steve to tell him his plans, but was directed to his voicemail instead. “Hey Steve…just letting you know that I’m going to take an Amtrak to Penn Station. I’ll be there around eight.”

 

The conductor called for “all-aboard” and he found himself a seat. The train was long, sleek and silver. There were placards posted for free wi-fi, and there was something about a dining car. He’d find it later if he needed to. He leaned his head against the window next to him, and he watched as the train pulled away from the station.

 

The last train he’d been on had been in the Alps. He’d nearly fallen hundreds of feet to his death. Steve had caught him last second, and they’d laid in each others arms and refused to let each other go for hours afterwards. Maybe it would have been better if he had fallen. He wouldn’t have lived to know that it was possible to be in a place like this.

 

The world had moved on, and he was a living anachronism. Steve was the only one who truly understood, and yet they were grinding together like two cogs out of sync. Nothing fit right; not their conversations, not their friendships, not their beliefs. Bucky half wondered if they were even truly friends anymore.

 

“Sir?” Bucky jerked from his thoughts and looked up. There was a young black man in front of him, standing in the aisle and looking hopefully at the seat across from Bucky. “Do you mind if I sit down?” The man was handsome, well groomed, and in good shape. His clothes were neatly put together, and his back said he was confident in his presence.

 

“No,” Bucky murmured. He pulled his knees in closer. He’d sprawled out in his chair, and the man smiled gratefully. He sat across from him and smiled.

 

“My name is Antoine Triplett,” the man said with a smile. Bucky hesitated, before nodding.

 

“James Barnes,” he introduced. He held out his hand before he could second-guess if that was appropriate or not. Antoine just smiled wider, and shook it. His grip was firm and pleased. “Do I…know you?” he asked slowly. He felt like he was missing something.

 

“No, sir, but if you don’t mind me saying – it’s an honor to meet you.” Bucky’s stomach dropped somewhat. Recognized. He’d been recognized, and it did nothing but make him squirm unhappily. “Secretary Pierce asked me to look out for you on your way home.”

 

“He did?” Antoine nodded. “You’re with SHIELD?”

 

“I am.” Sighing unhappily, Bucky sunk back in his seat.

 

“I don’t want anything to do with SHIELD.”

 

“To be honest, sir, I volunteered. I’m not getting paid for this. It’s a personal trip.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I grew up on stories about you, sir. And-”

 

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” Bucky corrected. Licking his lips, he pressed on. “I’m not an officer, and…and we’re the same age I guess.”

 

Antoine paused for a moment, and then his eager expression fell. Bucky wondered if he’d said something to offend him, when Antoine just looked away. “May I ask you a personal question?” Already on edge, Bucky almost didn’t respond. He forced himself to nod, though, looking at Antoine warily.

 

“How long has it been for you?” He didn’t need to elaborate. Bucky knew what he meant. He pressed his lips together and tried to shake off the anxiety that always mounted whenever he thought back to waking up and realizing his world was never going to be the same.

 

“Six months,” he managed to get out. He turned to look out the window, and watched the scenery pass him by. “We caught Zola, and made a plan. Plan was to stop Schmidt at all costs, so we did. We all thought it was a suicide mission no matter what way you looked at it. Even gettin’ on that plane I had a pretty good idea we weren’t getting off it. Looked back, could just see Carter and Philips on the tarmac. Gabe and Jim, Jacques and Dum Dum were all inside, and it was just Steve and me…travlin’ off like we always did. Gonna take down just one more bully.”

 

Antoine was listening closely, and Bucky curled his arms over his chest. He was freezing, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to pull on his coat now. It would draw looks, and he didn’t want any more attention than necessary.

 

“Plane went down, we woke up, and there are aliens in New York, and everyone we know is-” he cut himself off. Rebecca flashed through his mind, and he could think about her. Not now. It wasn’t right. It was inappropriate. His SHIELD therapists had insisted that he know what to say whenever someone asked him about waking up. No one wanted or needed to hear his life story. They just wanted to be validated. He took a deep breath. “It’s been real different now a days, but it’s not so bad. Food is better; we used to boil everything. Internet,” he grinned. It felt like false plastic stretched across his mouth. “So helpful.”

 

“Man cut the bull shit.” The smile snapped off his face. Antoine shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me it’s all right. I know it’s not.”

 

“It takes some getting used to, but-”

 

“My granddad was Gabe Jones.” White noise filled Bucky’s ears, and he could feel his face melting as he stared at Antoine. His back pressed more firmly against his seat, and his heart thundered between his ribs. Antoine didn’t say anything, just sat still: watching and waiting.

 

“Oh?” Bucky eventually managed to breathe out. He could see it around his cheeks, around his eyes. He was taller than Gabe, but his body was the same. It ached worse than Rebecca. Rebecca was still alive. Gabe was only here through the presence of a grandson that Bucky hadn’t been around to see born.

 

“Yeah. Talked about you all the time. My dad married Leila Dernier, Jacques’ daughter.” Bucky felt tears forming again, and he hated this. He hated how weak he was. He hated how he couldn’t keep from crying over the smallest things. This shouldn’t hurt, but it did. It hurt worse than anything he could have possibly imagined.

 

“Your last name-”

 

“I didn’t join SHIELD to get favors because of my grandparents. I joined SHIELD to help people.”

 

“What’s your real name?” Bucky asked quietly. Antoine smiled.

 

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell you that until you’ve gotten a few drinks in me.” Bucky was so startled; that for a moment all he could do was stare. Then, feeling absurdly delighted by the comment, he burst out laughing.  The tears were still there, but his laughter made them slip by unnoticed. He brushed his fingers passed his eyes and shook his head.

 

“Your grandparents…I knew them-” Bucky cut himself off. He didn’t know what to say.

 

“Hey, man. They respected you, and they cared about you. And I know, because I asked them when I was young and immature and didn’t know better, that if you made it through the war – the only thing they’d want for you is to be happy.” Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You doing all right, Sarg? Because from where I’m sitting…you don’t look all that happy.” Another laugh came unbidden, and Bucky shook his head. 

 

“No foolin?” he started. “I don’t think I’m doin’ all right at all.”

 

Antoine nodded. “That’s okay. Hell, man. That’s more than okay.” Bucky didn’t even try to smile. He just curled against the side of the train car.

 

“I was in a warzone six months ago,” Bucky murmured thoughtfully.

 

“Not sure you fully left it,” Antoine murmured back. Bucky didn’t reply.

 

He was right.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Steve wasn’t at Penn Station when they arrived. Bucky didn’t expect him to be. Taking a deep breath, Bucky pushed his hands into his pockets and started walking to their apartment. Antoine kept pace with him the whole while.

 

They spoke more on the train, Bucky listening as Antoine gave him some basic information about things he was working on and what he was doing. He talked some about Gabe and Dernier, but Bucky was still sensitive on the topic and couldn’t listen for too long. Antoine, thankfully, was good enough to talk about something else.

 

When they got to the apartment, Bucky unlocked the door and let them both in. Steve wasn’t home. Stevie wasn’t either. There was a note on the counter, though, telling Bucky that he got called out on an emergency mission and that Tony was dogsitting until he got back. Bucky stared at the note for several minutes before letting it go.

 

“You like music?” Bucky asked softly, and Antoine shrugged.

 

“Don’t really have a preference. Sometimes I’m feeling one beat, sometimes another. I just go with what’s on at the moment.”

 

“Steve’s not going to be back for a while,” Bucky told him. “I was…thinking about playing.” He motioned towards the piano awkwardly, and Antoine’s grin grew wide.

 

“Think you could play some Beethoven?” he asked. Already, Bucky knew why he was asking. The Victory March was blasted through their warzones like a beacon of hope. Almost every bar had a rendition, and Bucky used to play his own too. Sometimes Steve would join him, and they’d sit side by side and float away across the keyboard. Other times, it was just him. The Commandos used to watch and cheer each time.

 

“Do you know how to play?” he asked as he wandered to the piano bench.

 

“No, don’t really have the talent for it.” Bucky rolled his eyes and motioned him over.

 

“You’re gonna learn. My usual partner’s AWOL at the moment, so you’re getting a crash course.”

 

Antoine’s face burst with joy and he sat by Bucky’s side.

 

The lesson was slow going. Antoine didn’t have any natural talent at the piano, but he was eager to learn. He had a broad smile across his face from the onset, and Bucky allowed a tired grin to form as well. He’d taught the Victory March to almost everyone in the Commandos, and so he gave the lessons without truly thinking about it. Antoine soaked up each word, and it was almost nice.

 

Unbidden, he thought about playing professionally. He thought about school, about taking lessons and standing in front of a crowd. His eyes fell closed, and he imagined what it would be like. Music was simple and uncomplicated. He could convey everything he thought of so easily into music. Tragedy, happiness, loss, love…music could take everything he couldn’t say and bring it to into reality.

 

He wanted to play. He wanted to give lessons. He wanted to be more than Captain America’s live in, who merely sat at the stove waiting for the man of the house to come home. He wanted to go out and have a life.

 

More than that, he wanted to prove to Steve that he _could_ leave Captain America behind. He wanted to prove that he could go to school, that he could have a life that wasn’t entrenched in Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes’ memory. He wanted to do something he loved, and stop thinking about violence being a normal part of his day-to-day routine.

 

“Pierce asked me about going to college,” Bucky admitted quietly. Antoine had managed to memorize at least four notes, and he was playing the return absently.

 

“You thinking about doing it?” No judgment. No second guessing. No other thoughts. Just curiosity.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. His fingers fell from the keyboard, and he looked at Antoine. “Yeah, I think I am.” Antoine grinned.

 

“You know? I think that’s a good idea.” It wasn’t the same as receiving Steve’s benediction, but it was a start. Even from the grave, Gabe and Jacques were looking after him. It felt good.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Bucky called Pepper for help. She was always busy with meetings, but she cleared a time in her schedule to see him. He didn’t feel comfortable with going back to Pierce. The Secretary had already donated so much of his time and energy to Bucky’s cause; he didn’t want to make it worse. Frankly, SHEILD had better things to do than worry about his collegiate career, and Bucky would rather they weren’t involved in every aspect of his life in any case.

 

Pepper met him at the door of her office, and she immediately drew him into a friendly embrace. Bucky didn’t know why Pepper was so friendly with him. He suspected it was because she liked Stevie so much. Tony always let Stevie stay over if there was an issue, and Pepper clearly enjoyed having the dog around. Bucky wondered why she didn’t have one of her own, but she always waved it off by saying she was too busy for a pet.

 

Bucky met Pepper in the days that followed the attack in New York. Still weak and struggling to move about properly, Bucky hadn’t been able to do much to help clean up the city. Tony was sidelined until he was checked over by a doctor with an active license, and Bucky sat with him as Steve rushed about fielding phone calls like a pro.

 

Pepper was always at Tony’s side, and the three of them spoke to one another for hours at a time. Pepper was a friendly woman who had a big heart. She smelled like cocoa butter and was always dressed to the nines. She looked like she would enjoy going dancing sometime, though she blushed and admitted she wasn’t very good at it. He’d like to see it anyway.

 

Pepper led him to a cozy couch and they sat down next to each other. She asked him how he was feeling, and what brought him to her, and he awkwardly stumbled through his request. “I, um, well I’ve been thinkin’ about going to school? And I don’t know if I can?” Immediately Pepper’s demeanor shifted from compassionate friend to fearless businesswoman.

 

“May I ask you some questions?” he nodded gratefully. He had no idea what he needed to do. “Officially, what’s the highest level of education you received?”

Pepper took out a smart pad and set it up so that it was doing dictation for them.   She was really clever with things like that, and Bucky shifted uncomfortably.

 

“I graduated high-school in 1933, even took the SAT! Steve and I used to joke about goin’ to college back then. Couldn’t really afford it, but we took all the tests anyway. I got a 525 on my verbal and a 550 on my math. I even took a couple of classes, after, at the community school, here or there, but nothing steady. I joined the army in ’40…I know I’m not terribly clever or anything, but…I did graduate high school!”

 

“At sixteen too,” Pepper commented wryly.

 

“Most folks couldn’t afford to go on after that. Needed to work and all.” She nodded.

 

“What would you like to study?”

 

“Music?” He flushed darkly as he replied. To someone with such an impressive career like Pepper, music seemed so frivolous. He rubbed his hands together as he spared a glance towards her.

 

“Oh, Bucky, I think that’s a wonderful idea.” It wasn’t what he was expecting.

 

“You do?”

 

“Of course, you’re so talented!” It was an echo of Pierce’s words, and he felt his skin flush all the way down his neck in response to her praise. “Where would you like to go?”

 

“I don’t know, I don’t really know what schools there are. Everything I’ve heard of is so big and…prestigious. I don’t think I’d get accepted anyway. So maybe something small? Local?”

 

Pepper reached out and placed her hand over his. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Women usually weren’t so friendly when they were already spoken for. It took some getting used to. She didn’t mean anything by it.

 

“Stop self-deprecating yourself, Bucky Barnes. You are a vastly intelligent young man, and you _can_ get into any school you chose.”

 

“Don’t think I’ll be getting into Julliard, ma’am.” Pepper’s eyes narrowed, and he wondered if he’d misstepped again.

 

“Do you want to go to Julliard, Bucky?”

 

“I-” he stopped. His parents had managed to get them to the school once, when he’d been a kid. He could remember sitting in the auditorium looking at the orchestra on the stage. It had been the most beautiful, most memorable experience of his childhood. He had wanted nothing more than to go to the musicians and ask them everything he could.

 

He’d begged his father to let him learn how to play the piano. They’d put a penny aside each week just for him, and once a month he took it down to a local man’s home and he exchanged it for an hour’s worth of lessons. He hugged his arms across his chest.

 

“I want to go to Julliard,” he admitted quietly. “But…I don’t want to go as me. I don’t want anyone to know who I am. I want to be judged on my own merit.” She nodded.

 

“Let me see what I can do,” she said. She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. “I’d like to arrange for a tutor to meet with you during the week. He or she can help you get up to speed with the academics that have changed since you were in school. I’d like to do some research on your SAT scores as well. The test has changed since you took it, but we may still be able to use your results. I’ll need to contact legal to prepare a summary.”

 

“What do you want for this?” Bucky asked her. “I have money, I can-”

 

“Bucky, it would be my genuine pleasure to watch you perform on stage. Let’s get you into school, and see if you can help grant my wish from there. Okay?” He nodded.

 

“Thank you, Pepper.”

 

“You’re most welcome, Bucky.” She reached out and hugged him. 

 

He hugged her back.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Steve came home covered in mud. He stumbled through the door, and Bucky jumped as he watched him come in. Steve looked from him, to the study books in front of him, to where Stevie was sprawled on the floor, and he pressed his lips together.

 

“Steve-” Bucky started.

 

“Save it,” Steve replied. He turned and walked to the bathroom.  Bucky clenched his fingers around the pages of the book that he was reading. Anger coiled within him and he slammed the book down on the table.

 

Marching after Steve, he threw open the door and froze. Steve had pulled off his shirt and was struggling with his pants. There were dark lashes on his back, healing even as he tried to get undressed. His wrists were rubbed raw, like he’d been held down by something sharp and painful. Bucky’s stomach clenched, his head spun. He brought a hand up to his mouth as bile started to rise. Steve twisted and stared at him. His eyes were hooded with pain, but that was fast giving way to grief.

 

“You-what-” Stevie whined at Bucky’s feet, and he turned. He couldn’t be here. He fell to his knees in the bathroom, choking and gagging as he vomited into the toilet. Steve appeared at his side, one hand on his nape, the other on his arm.

 

“It’s not that bad. It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m sorry. I should have locked the door.”

 

“ _No!_ ” Bucky twisted on his heel, coughing and wiping his mouth on his wrist. “ _No!_ You shouldn’t have locked the door. You shouldn’t have been hurt to begin with. _Christ_ Steve!”

 

“Lord’s name,” Steve whispered absently.

 

“What happened?”

 

“It’s-”

 

“So help me God, if you say ‘it’s classified’ Steven Rogers, I’ll kill you myself.” Steve pressed his lips together. “I can’t do this, Steve. I just can’t. Everyone’s dead and gone, and you just keep throwing yourself back in it. Is it worth it? Is it?”

 

“They need me, Buck.”

 

“ _I_ need you.”

 

“You ran away! I was right there, and I was helping you through, and you ran away! You disappeared!”

 

“For one night. One night, I was in DC, and I was back the next day. _One night_ , Steve. You were _gone_ when I came in. You were gone and-” There was blood slipping down Steve’s neck from an open wound behind his ear. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut.

 

There were bombs exploding behind his lids. The plane was going down. Schmidt was laughing. Everything hurt. Zola was there; he was there behind everything. His body hurt, his lungs couldn’t draw breath. He was falling without stopping. The sky shifted above him. He shivered. He was cold. He was really cold. He was so cold.

 

“I can’t do this, Steve. I just can’t. I need it to stop.” Steve slumped at his side. “I just need it to stop.”

 

“I can’t stop, Bucky. There are people laying down their lives. They’ll die without…without me.” Bucky shook his head.

 

“They were going to die before you woke up. What difference does it make now? Please, please Steve.” He reached up and cupped Steve’s face in his hand. “Please stop.”

 

“Fury asked me to move to the DC office,” Steve responded. Bucky felt his heart stop. His blood burned painfully, his body shook in agony. His heart restarted, and it was too late. His head fell forwards and his hands braced himself for the fall he was bound to take. “I said yes,” Steve continued. “They need my help, Buck. Erksine gave me this power, and I have to do something with it. I have to help. I…people need me to help.”

 

“ _I_ need you to stay. I’m not doin’ okay, Steve. I know you know that. But I’m not. I need you to stay. I need this all…” he motioned at the blood stained uniform and healing wounds, “to stop. I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.” Stevie whined at the door to the bathroom, but neither reached to pet him.

 

It simply took too much to move. Deep inside, Bucky could feel something breaking. They’d been friends for as long as Bucky could remember, but maybe this was it. The train was screeching its breaks as it skidded into the station. It was the end of the line, and it was time to get off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, my puppy injured his paw on Saturday, and a family emergency delayed things from there. Without further ado: chapter four.

Bucky had no desire to move to Washington DC. New York was his home, and the fact that he’d compromised to live in Manhattan seemed more than enough. Steve seemed to finally understand that he wasn’t budging, too. His shoulders were always hiked up in defense, and he seemed progressively unhappier as days went by. 

 

“I don’t understand,” Steve said at long last. “When you ran out on Becca,” Bucky flinched, “you went to DC. You like Pierce, don’t you? Why not move south?” 

 

“I don’t want to leave New York, Rogers.” Bucky rarely used Steve’s name these days. It wasn’t necessarily intentional; he just couldn’t seem to let go of his anger enough to actually call him by name properly. In return, Steve steadfastly refused to call Bucky anything at all. 

 

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time they’d fought this hard for this long. He was sure they had spats during the war, and he knew they certainly happened after the war. But this seemed excessive even for them. The trouble was, he could no more back down than Steve could. He knew Steve was frustrated, but he wasn’t willing to concede just yet. Steve, in turn, wasn’t willing to concede either. They were in a rough stalemate, and neither knew exactly how to get out of it. 

 

It hurt, because the more books Bucky started to read, the more articles he started to go through, the more applications he began to fill out: the more Bucky wanted to talk to his best friend about it. Steve, though, wasn’t listening. He was so focused on the mission, he was loosing sight of what was right in front of him, and what was _not_ going to stay in front of him for very long. 

 

“There’s gotta be a music school in DC you could go to,” Steve finally suggested. It sounded like it was being torn straight out of him in order to say it. Bucky scowled. There were. There were several: American University, George Washington University, Howard University, and even Trinity College. He knew he  _could_ apply to those schools, but he didn’t want to move to DC. He was willing to dig his heels into that one. 

 

“I ain’t going to DC for  _anything_ , Rogers.” Steve clenched his fists. 

 

“Why not?” he spat out. 

 

“Because you just ain’t worth it,” Bucky snapped back. Steve flinched, and shook his head. 

 

“To hell with you,” he said, throwing one hand up in the air as though waving Bucky off. He turned on his heel and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him so hard it cracked the plaster wall and split the wooden frame. Stevie whined unhappily by Bucky’s feet and he listened as Steve stomped down the stairs and onto the street. 

 

Bucky watched him go miserably, and slumped onto the couch. Stevie jumped up next to him, but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to pet his dog. He sank his head into his hands and grit his teeth. He hated this. He really did. 

 

Steve didn’t come home that night, or the next. Bucky half-heartedly wondered if he’d been called on another mission. It wouldn’t surprise him if it did. He thought about calling Antoine, or maybe Pierce, but he didn’t want to bother either of them at the moment. He enjoyed spending time with Antoine, against all odds. It had been nice to have another person to talk to. But the fact remained that Antoine, like Pierce, were both SHIELD. He was sick to death SHIELD personnel at the moment.

 

Even the Avengers were a lost cause. Stark had flown back to Malibu to do some research on his suits, and Pepper had gone with him. Both had told him he was more than welcome to use Stark Towers whenever he wanted, but he hadn’t felt motivated enough to go by himself. Bruce was still around, sure, but Bucky always felt even worse talking to him. Bruce always seemed so calm, and Bucky didn’t want to ruin his day by dumping all of his problems onto him. The thought made his head hurt. He glanced towards his piano, but the idea of playing was sickening. 

 

The damned piano was ruining everything. 

 

He moved thoughtlessly towards his bed and crawled under the covers. He wrapped his arms over his head and he tried to pretend that he wasn’t crying. It didn’t work out so well for him. Tears came hot and fast, and his body was wracked with sobs as he dampened the sheets under his head. 

 

In the morning, he sent Pepper a text telling her to stop looking into schools. He didn’t want to go anymore. She immediately called him back, but he didn’t pick up. He turned the phone off and started to pick up all the paperwork he’d collected. He set them into a pile, and then tossed the bunch into the trash. Stevie watched him work, yellow tail slapping against the floor as he wagged it. 

 

He cleared his search history, deleted all the documents related to his application processes, and started looking for someone to sell the piano to. By the time Steve came back, nearly three days after their fight, Bucky’s bags were packed, his keyboard was pawned, and the piano was swiftly sent off to a music store in Brooklyn. 

 

“I’m tired of fighting,” Bucky murmured as Steve stood in the hall and took everything in. “I’ll go to DC with you.” 

 

Bucky had no idea what he’d done wrong, but Steve lifted a hand to his face and shook his head. His breaths were coming in raggedly, and Stevie whined as he walked towards his namesake and pressed his body against his leg. Steve crouched down low and buried his head in the dog’s back. “Steve?” Bucky asked. He felt like a boat adrift at sea. He didn’t know where he was going, or if there was any safe harbor in sight. His stomach shifted and turned within him, and his head spun vigorously. “I-I want to stay with you, that’s why I-Steve?” 

 

“Stupid idiot,” Steve’s voice sounded bungled up from the back of their dog’s coat. Bucky’s knees gave out and he hit the floor hard. He crawled back to lean against a wall and pressed his hands to the sides of his head. It was too much. Everything was too much. He needed it all to stop. He couldn’t process what was going on, there was too much changing, and he was sick of it. He was sick of it. 

 

Something shifted around him, and he was tugged into Steve’s chest. His left hand shifted to grab onto his friend’s shirt, and Steve held him tight. “I’m sorry,” Steve murmured. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Buck.” At least they were back on a first name basis, Bucky thought hysterically. 

 

“What are you sorry for?” he asked. He had no idea at this point. He really didn’t. He felt like he was floating. 

 

“All of this. We haven’t been talkin’ have we? Not really. Yapping our gums at each other, but not actually listenin’ to one another. Always got into fights, you and me, but we always sorted ‘em out real quick. Not now, though, hm? We keep gettin’ into it worse and worse.” Steve hadn’t sounded so Brooklyn since 1943. His national tour had taught him to finish off his i-n-g’s, fix those drawling vowels, and change the candor of his paces. Bucky hadn’t realized how much he missed listening to Steve talk to him like he used to, growing up on the East River like a couple of alley cats. 

 

“I’m not okay,” Bucky admitted quietly. He’d been saying it more and more lately, but for the first time: Steve finally seemed to hear it for the cry of help it always was.

 

“Yeah, Buck. I know,” Steve replied, holding him closer. “I’m not either.” 

 

“Yeah, Steve…I know.” It felt like an admission of guilt. They’d fought through a war together, and everyone said they were heroes. Everyone said that they were perfectly all right: the best of the best. They were the soldiers that people could look up to and feel proud of. Everyone said they were perfectly fine in every way, shape, and form. 

 

But they weren’t. Not really. They were falling apart, and nothing made sense anymore. Bucky couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before. He wanted it all to stop, but he had no idea how to make it happen. Some days he wished he’d died in the ice, other days he wished he could just get used to these changes. 

 

The changes were too great, though. They were too painful. They were too awful to consider. He was alone. Everyone was gone and dead, and he had no place in this world. He wasn’t a soldier, he wasn’t a dockworker, and he didn’t have any idea if he could actually be a student. And Steve was in the same position. Bucky  _knew_ that. He  _knew_  Steve was trying to find a place to fit in. He  _knew_ the only reason Steve kept being Captain America is that he had no idea where to plant his feet. 

 

“We gotta talk,” Steve said quietly. Bucky nodded against his chest. 

 

“Yeah, I know.”  

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Somewhere along the line, they had stopped sleeping together. It became a habit to sleep apart, too disgusted or frustrated with one another to even think about lying side by side. Steve was usually gone on missions anyway, so it hadn’t seemed as dramatic as it actually was. Now, they lay intertwined. Bucky’s head was on Steve’s shoulders; his arms were around Bucky’s back. Their legs were tangled, and they breathed in tandem.

 

Bucky leaned into Steve’s touch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been physically close to another person like this. It unlocked some broken part of his soul and he craved it even more. He pulled Steve closer, and he tried to burrow into his body. 

 

Bucky’s piano was being returned in the morning, Steve had insisted on that. His keyboard was picked up from the pawnshop as well. Their conversation, which felt more like a brokenhearted goodbye than anything else, had changed everything. Steve told him, at long last, exactly what was going on in his fool head, and Bucky was prompted to do the same. 

 

Steve didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He’d spent twenty-three years living the life of a man who would never amount to anything, never be able to help anyone or be of use. His one talent was art, and even that was only enough to stave off starvation one day of the week out of seven. He’d been an okay newspaper boy, but he had no true job experience to call his own. By the time the serum came, he had been seriously considering leaving Brooklyn for good. He didn’t want to live off Bucky’s charity anymore, and he couldn’t afford to stay in the city much longer. 

 

Then, for two years, Steve had what he wanted. He had strength, health, and recognition. He led men into battle, and he was serving the greater good. He was helping those around him, and he was making a difference. He was doing right, even if the war itself was dark and bloody. It was easy to forget how brutally violent the war was, when he realized that he was doing so much good. 

 

And through it all, he had Bucky at his side. He, quietly, admitted that he had felt powerful when he had pulled Bucky from that table. He’d never truly had the chance to save Bucky before, and that he had the opportunity to do it then - it had settled something in him that he’d not known he’d needed settling. He saved Bucky’s life, and Bucky had chosen to follow him just like he always did. He didn’t want to look passed everything else. He didn’t want to see what was really happening. 

 

He didn’t look into it, when Bucky managed to keep pace with him even when everyone else fell behind. He didn’t even try to think about what might have been happening on that table, and Steve had to stop talking about it for a few moments as Bucky forced his hands to stop shaking. Steve reached out and took Bucky’s hands, and held them close. He went on, painfully sorrowful, and continued to speak. 

 

Waking up in the 21st century, with Bucky even more obviously damaged than he had been before, had been a wake-up call he hadn’t wanted. He hadn’t been prepared to stand on the other side of the fence, look at his closest friend, and see that everything wasn’t going to be all right ever again. Bucky was better now, yes, but Steve hadn’t looked into it after that. He had failed, and he didn’t know where to go from here. 

 

He’d been built to serve his country, and it was the only thing he was ever good at. He didn’t think he could stop, didn’t think he could pull away from it all and say he’d had enough. But at the same time, he didn’t think he could keep tearing Bucky down with him. Because that’s all he’d been doing lately. Just like in the war, he was looking the other way whenever Bucky needed him to focus. He was hoisted on his own petard, and Bucky was paying the price. 

 

What followed, was a series of apologies that Bucky had never wanted or needed to hear. Steve was gutted by their interactions. He was torn apart and miserable, and Bucky had no idea his sorrow had run so deep. 

 

“I chose to follow you in the war,” Bucky told Steve when he’d finished speaking. “That was my choice, not yours.” 

 

“If I hadn’t asked, would you have stayed?” Bucky didn’t have an answer to that. They both already knew it. Bucky would have gone home, and lived his life free of pain. He would have gone home and lived with his family, his friends. He would have lived his life with them, and not lived it after them. 

 

“You can’t change that now, Steve,” Bucky said. “I made that choice because I believed in you. I still do.”

 

“We haven’t spoken in months. Not really. Just been arguing.” 

 

“Just ‘cause you're a stubborn punk.” 

 

They spoke for hours. Bucky told Steve about the nightmares he’d been having. He told Steve about how the war haunted him in ways he hadn’t thought it would. He told Steve about how sometimes when the cold spells came, he thought he was still in the ice and this was all a bad dream. He told Steve about how the piano was the one thing that seemed to help clear his mind. It helped in ways that Bucky never thought it would. It was something that was intrinsically his and that he didn’t want to give up, but would do so in a heartbeat if it meant getting his best friend back.

 

At the end of the day, Bucky missed Steve Rogers. He missed spending time with his friend and partner. He missed trading jokes and busting chops. He missed holding out his hand and knowing that Steve was going to be right there. But as much as he missed Steve, he couldn’t watch him die. He couldn’t watch him put himself in danger time after time. It hurt too much, and it was driving him crazy. He needed predictability. He needed Steve to be there when he said he was going to be there, and not disappear at the drop of a hat. 

 

Steve turned his head and buried his nose in Bucky’s hair. He squeezed him just that last bit tighter, and Bucky let out a long breath. When they were younger, their parents had said they’d never willingly leave each other’s sides. They were bound to one another, and were going to always be there for each other no matter what. It turns out, their parents were almost right. Like with all things, there came an end. 

 

Compromise hurt.

 

It was always going to. 

 

Steve was moving to DC, and Bucky was going to go with him. It was only temporary. Bucky was still going to apply to colleges, and depending on where he was accepted - he was going to leave for school. They’d talk to each other whenever they could, but there would be no schedule. There’d be no promises. There’d be no routine. Bucky wouldn’t know when Steve was on missions. Steve wouldn’t come home to Bucky, still covered in blood and smelling like war. 

 

If Steve ever wanted to retire or lay down his shield, he knew where to find Bucky. If Bucky ever became too miserable by himself, he knew where he could find Steve. Both would be each other’s emergency contact, both would be each other’s first call. That didn’t change. But for the first time in years, they would pass each day with the knowledge that the other wasn’t going to be standing at their sides. They would go through the world ahead, alone, and maybe that was what they needed. 

 

Whatever they were doing now wasn’t working. 

 

Steve dragged his feet with moving. He held Fury off with meaningless comments about “some day soon,” and “almost ready.” Bucky knew he was stalling, though he couldn’t work out the reason. Steve had made it abundantly clear, time and again, that when it came down to the lives of the man versus the life of one friend: the many would always come first. Morally, he didn’t begrudge Steve for that at all. He wished he could.

 

As Steve loitered, Bucky set to work with his tutor. Pepper organized a report on his academic standing, and had started to contact music schools to see how he would place. He worked on audition pieces and was coached on how to dress and what to say. His applications were sent out, and he waited for a response.

 

Throughout it all, Bucky kept in touch with Pierce and Antoine. Both continued to wish him their best, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter after talking to them. He even managed to return to see his sister.

 

Rebecca didn’t begrudge him his flight. If anything, she understood full well. Talking with her was painfully difficult, and Bucky struggled to get everything out properly. She sat beside him, patiently, and didn’t complain once.

 

“You’re a grand fool James Barnes,” Rebecca told him with a sigh. She reached out and touched his hair under her fragile palm. “Do you want to know a secret?”

 

“Yeah,” he murmured quietly.

 

“I wanted to run away myself.” She sighed loudly and settled back in her old rocking chair. “All these years I’ve lived without you, and then suddenly there you are. You’re like a dream and a nightmare at once. I could never wish this pain on you, Bucky, and yet I could see how much I was hurting you. Oh, I wanted to run from the hills. Lord knows I’ve missed you something fierce, but we both weren’t expecting this now were we?” He shook his head numbly.

 

“Becks, if I hurt you-”

 

“Oh Buck…you could never hurt me. I’ve wanted you home for so long, I just thought I’d grow up with you, and life’s given us a cruel fate here. But you hear me now. We’re going to make the best of it. Yes? For our parents and sisters. We’re going to make the best of it, and you’re going to tell me everything, because when I get to those pearly gates and see them all, I know they’re going to be run a frantic wondering where you and Steve Rogers have been all these years.”

 

The thought made Bucky’s heart ache and his lips twist in a laugh at the same time. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for his parents to die and realize he wasn’t there waiting for them like they always thought he’d be. He also couldn’t help but find the image of Rebecca arriving to spread the news rather entertaining. He could picture her regaling memories, throwing back her head in glee as she declared that he’d come back for her and her alone.

 

“Let’s give ma and da some good memories of you to hold onto, okay?” He nodded in reply, and leaned up to press his lips to the side of her head.

 

“Okay.” Then, he takes a deep breath, and tells her the only bit of news that he has, “I’m applying to Julliard.” Rebecca’s mouth fell open and her eyes flew wide.

 

“ _Tell me everything_ ,” she demanded.

 

He did.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

When Bucky returned home, he found Steve on a laptop hunting for an apartment. He looked physically ill, and Bucky hesitated as he entered the room. Steve wasn’t good at typing. Neither of them were, but they found tablets and smart phones far easier than full keyboards. Back when they’d been younger, they had both used typewriters from time to time. Now, the hand positions were different and their needs varied. Steve was poised with three fingers curled up on each hands. His pointer fingers were stretched out over the keys, and his tongue was peeking out between his lips. His skin had a faint green look to it, and Bucky wondered how long he’d been stuck there in contemplation.

 

“You all right?” Bucky asked him carefully. He inched closer and saw that Stevie was lounged with his head on his namesake’s lap. He seemed to be sleeping happily, and let out a soft doggie whimper as his paws twitched.

 

“Can’t really find a place.” Bucky drifted closer and slowly lowered himself at Steve’s side. He pressed their arms together, and relished in the warmth that radiated from Steve’s body. It reminded him of how cold he was, and Steve shifted and reached backwards. He pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over Bucky’s back one handed.

 

There were dozens of tabs open in whichever Internet browser Steve was looking at. Bucky reached over and tapped the mouse so that he could see what the latest apartment looked like. It was apparently on SHIELD’s list of acceptable options. It looked ridiculously expensive and like something bordering on the obscene. He closed the tab without bothering to ask Steve if he’d saved it. He already knew that Steve hadn’t. He _loathed_ it.

 

Bucky could see the problem right away. Most of the apartments were too big, some were too grand, a lot were just a bit too overbearing. The wall colors were too much, the appliances were ridiculous, and the overall demeanor of the homes screamed a lifestyle that Steve didn’t have nor want. Whichever SHIELD agent had organized his housing options didn’t know a thing about him. These would drive Steve mad in less than a month, and it was obvious he was already getting anxiety about it prior to even arriving in DC.

 

“What do you need to have for it to be qualified?” Bucky asked him. Steve frowned and sent him a surprised look, and he scowled. “You’re going whether I want you to or not, the least I can do is make sure you don’t lose your mind _before_ you come to your senses.” Steve gave him a wary smile, and Bucky bit his lip. He directed his attention back to the screen. “So what do you need?”

 

“Placement? I don’t really know. I guess they want to make sure it’s secure? Easily defendable? Within commute of the Triskelion at least.”

 

“The what?” Steve grimaced.

 

“The Triskelion…it’s the, uh, headquarters.”

 

“Right.” Steve was still sitting rigidly at Bucky’s side, and he forced himself to let out a breath of air slowly. “Who comes up with these names?” he asked. “I mean, Lord above, what does that even mean?” Tentatively, as if afraid Bucky would be set up, Steve offered an answer.

 

“I think…it’s a shape?” Bucky snorted and closed a tab by typing in the search bar at the top. The word ‘triskelion’ came up with a Wikipedia article, and he clicked it. ‘“A motif consisting of three interlocking spirals,”’ he read. They’d both leaned towards the screen to squint at the image. Scrolling down the page, Bucky couldn’t help but giggle when he saw the common uses of triskelions. “You joining the Department of Transportation, Steve-o?”

 

“Shaddup,” Steve laughed as he nudged Bucky’s leg.

 

“What about…BDSM? You doin’ BDSM?” Steve flushed darkly. It wasn’t the response that Bucky anticipated. “What is that anyway?” he asked slowly, moving the mouse to click the button.

 

“No-wait,” Steve swatted towards his hands, but the reaction was already too much for Bucky to ignore. He clicked the link and stole the laptop off Steve’s thighs when he tried to block him. Steve was only trying to half-heartedly stall him, usually he wasn’t nearly as clumsy when he was determined.

 

‘“BDSM is a variety of erotic practices involving dominance and submission, role playing, restraint, and other interpersonal dynamics,”’ Bucky read. Steve was blushing so hard that Bucky couldn’t help but raise a brow at him. “Something you want to tell me, dearest?” he asked with a leering grin.

 

“Yes, Bucky, I’m not actually going to DC to work for SHIELD, I’ve decided to take up a life of sexual indecency in the Department of Transportation.”

 

“I knew it,” Bucky sighed dramatically. “And you never told me about it before. For shame. And here I thought I was your closest friend.”

 

“You are,” Steve said. His tone was perfectly open and honest. His eyes locked on Bucky’s and were far too sincere. “You are my closest friend.” Bucky felt his mouth go dry.

 

“I know that, Steve…you know that,” Bucky replied just as sincerely. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he continued. “But you gotta tell me,” he started. “Dominant or submissive?” Steve’s lips quirked slightly and then he dove forwards. The laptop went clattering to the ground as Steve ducked and tackled Bucky around the waist. He slammed to the ground, arms wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, laughing. 

 

Steve was on top of him, but it didn’t matter. Hands went everywhere, and he bucked his hips and twisted. They tussled on the floor, Stevie barking as he pranced around them. The lab must have woken up when the fuss started, and now he was watching their fight with eager interest.

 

Steve wasn’t actually hitting him. His fists were soft glances if anything else, and Bucky returned in kind. It felt good, like an explosion of memory from the past. Steve was _his_ Steve again. They were finally together, and it felt right to be at each other’s side. Bucky mimicked each playful strike, and he didn’t once complain.

 

They ended battered, bruised, and just a little bloody, but they were smiling and free. It felt so perfect. It felt like home. Steve was crouched over him, and he smiled fondly. He leaned his brow down so they were touching. “We’re going to be all right,” Bucky told him.

 

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “Yeah, I know.”

  
They’d make it work.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, but if it makes anyone feel better: this is the last tragic chapter for a while. We are now journeying into mystery (AKA: fluffville)

The apartment they finally settled on was small and outdated. The stairs creaked on the way up, the wood floor had scuffmarks, and the paint was chipping around the frames. It was perfect. The tension in Steve’s shoulders relaxed immediately upon entering his new domain, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile at him in satisfaction. Mission accomplished. 

Stevie sniffed every inch of the apartment. He trotted from room to room, rubbing against the walls and eventually flopping at their feet in annoyance when he realized there was no hidden treat anywhere for him to find. “Spoiled mutt,” Steve said as he rolled his eyes. Bucky grinned at him, and started to wander through the apartment himself.   
It was cozier than the pictures had made it seem. There was a great open space that was downright modest compared to the opulence of the last twenty potentials that SHIELD had. The kitchen was small and narrow; the bedroom was just big enough for a bed and a couple of dressers. There was a slim closet that would fit Steve’s uniform and suits as needed. It had been built in the 1920s and had only undergone sparse modifications since then. A wall had been knocked down between two former apartments, conjoining them into a larger more comfortable space. It was still small, but it felt so close to home that it was obscene. 

Bucky knew he liked it, and he could tell Steve adored it. 

They unloaded their moving van themselves, and they set to work with putting everything together. Bucky had convinced Steve to take a few days off from SHIELD so he could move properly, and SHIELD had allowed it. Their move took days, and through it all: Steve’s phone was turned off and his pager was silenced. For the first time in a long while, Steve seemed to finally be thinking of himself. Neither listened to the radio, nor did they turn on the TV. Bucky turned on his iPod so Dizzy Gillespie could serenade their move, and every so often he’d twirl about the kitchen with a broom as his dancing partner. Steve laughed the whole while, grinning and shaking his head in amusement. 

Together, they put their books carefully on their shelves, their furniture in the best positions possible, and their lives back on the walls. When they were done: it looked something like home, their home. Bucky felt a sharp pang of loss at the thought that someday soon he’d leave Steve behind. He’d be going his own way, and Steve would be in this beautiful apartment alone. For all Bucky knew it was worth it, it still hurt. 

Bucky twisted his head around to look at Steve, and forced a toothy grin. “How ya doin’?” he asked as he threw a pillow at his friend. Steve caught it close to the chest and rolled his eyes. 

“Hungry, to be honest,” he replied. 

“Yeah, I know how you feel.” Bucky stretched his arms and cracked his back with a sinful groan of pleasure. He could lament their relationship drama for months, and nothing would change. Food, however, could be worked out. “This place got anything good to eat around here?” Shrugging, Steve tilted his head towards the door. 

“Want to find out?” Nodding, Bucky glanced about the apartment for any sign of his coat. Spying it on the back of a chair in the kitchen, he pulled it on. Stevie gave them an insufferable look of pure desire, and he immediately turned to Steve hopefully. Well used to them both, he didn’t skip a beat before tapping away on his Starkphone.

“Papermoon in Georgetown is dog friendly. Feel like Italian?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Bucky replied. 

Together, they hooked a leash on Stevie’s collar and marched out the door. One of their neighbors was just stepping out of her own apartment as they reached the stairs, and she immediately smiled at them. “Hi! You must be the newcomers?” she asked as she motioned towards their door. She was gorgeous, Bucky noticed right away; pretty blonde hair and a genuinely friendly expression. She looked like she would be a doll on the dance floor and even Steve seemed to realize what a catch she could be. He was looking at her with something akin to wonder, and Bucky nudged him with his elbow. 

“Well this chum is, I’m just hangin’ around for a little while,” he said with a wide smile. Steve was a step away from gaping at his side, and Bucky had to force himself not to roll his eyes. You’d’ve thought he didn’t know what to do with a lady. 

“Kate,” she said as she held out her hand. The introduction seemed to finally snap Steve out of his daze and he fumbled as he reached out to shake her hand. 

“Steve, uh, Steve Rogers - this is Bucky Barnes.” Kate’s eyes widened somewhat and her mouth opened in a surprise ‘oh.’ She rallied together brilliantly though, and just nodded her head. 

“It’s good to meet you Steve, Bucky.” She shook Bucky’s hand as soon as Steve released hers, and then directed her attention to their attention-mongering Labrador. “Who’s this charmer?” she asked as she crouched down to give him a scratch behind the ears. 

“Stevie,” Bucky introduced smugly. 

“Buck thought he was real clever when he named the dog,” Steve lamented.

“Well I’d think so, look how handsome he is,” Kate smiled up at him and Steve flustered immediately. He gave Bucky a startled look and he shook his head. 

“Well one thing’s for sure, Stevie’s a hell of a lot better with the ladies,” the comment earned him an embarrassed swat in the stomach, and Kate giggled.

“It was nice to meet you both,” she said as she made to slip passed them. 

“Yeah, you too!” Bucky called after her, before nudging Steve again and waggling his brows. 

“Shaddup,” Steve muttered, shaking his head. 

“Just saying, you could do a lot worse while I’m gone,” Bucky replied. They followed after Kate, Stevie hoping down the steps with practiced ease. He wagged his tail as he waited at the landing for them to catch up, and Bucky adjusted his retractable leash so it didn’t give him as much room to run off on. 

Tony had a sidecar built for Steve’s bike before he’d left for Malibu. He’d given it to Steve a bit tongue-in-cheek, and Bucky had thought it had been hilarious at the time. Now, it was a rather reasonable addition to their current living situation. Carefully picking Stevie up, Bucky settled him into the sidecar and attached his collar to a short chain that kept him from wiggling too much. He could lie down and look out through the sidecar’s windshield, but he couldn’t jump out or even crawl over the sides. Bucky slid a pair of goggles over the dog’s eyes, and Stevie wagged his tail as he looked up at him. He loved riding the bike. 

“Told ya he takes after you,” Bucky told Steve magnanimously. Steve didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he started the Harley and waited as Bucky climbed on behind him. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned the side of his head against Steve’s spine, enjoying the feeling of warmth that settled through his face as they touched. Steve tapped his wrist once, confirming he was good, before twisting to look down the street. 

Moments later they were driving down the road. Wind rushed passed them as they drove. The ride settled into a pleasant trip. DC flew passed them, and the brisk spring air twisted in all directions. Steve had always wanted to drive a motorcycle. They’d looked at them in the shop windows all the time when they were kids, and Steve would rattle off everything he knew about them. 

Sometime between Bucky going off to war, and Steve finding him strapped to a table in Azzano, Steve had learned how to drive one. He told Bucky that he’d picked it up on his USO tour, and had promptly asked him if he wanted to take it for a spin. They’d taken a twenty-minute joyride before Philips had sent someone to escort them back to base. Both had been reprimanded for making off with military equipment. Steve had smoothly talked them out of any official disciplinary action by explaining that the motorcycle was important for Bucky to know how to drive in the field and it was a tactical trip only. Bucky doubted that Philips believed them, Peggy sure hadn’t. Then again, Peggy seemed like she’d been having quite a bit of trouble keeping from smiling as Steve explained his position. 

The Commandos always said that Steve could talk his way out of anything just by batting his eyes and looking indecently like the face of the American Public. Steve barely paid attention to either of them when they started talking like that, but none of them cared one bit about that. He was far too much fun to tease, and frankly it had been far too easy to get away with it. Forever teasing jab that Steve encountered, he found a way to return fire just as well. 

It was something Bucky had honestly missed since returning to the land of the living. Steve seemed to have taken it upon himself to being Captain America, the golden boy who could do no wrong, twenty-four seven. It was uncomfortable seeing him toe the line so strictly without one snarky comment or interpretation of an order.   
The bike pulled up into a parking spot and Bucky leaned away from Steve’s back. When everything had been turned off, he swung his leg off the bike and stood up. Stevie was grinning a big doggie grin, and he couldn’t help but pet the lab as he changed the chain out for his standard leash. 

Dinner was excellent. They shared a few plates of pasta and chatted amicably with one another. Bucky asked Steve about what he liked about DC as a city, and was surprised when he started to talk about architecture and symbolism. He pulled a pen from his pocket and started to draw graphs full of special relations on a napkin. Bucky leaned over and watched as he made careful ink lines going here and there on each part of the sheet. Bucky snuck Stevie a meatball as his namesake set to work. 

Steve’s shoulders were still tense, but he looked far more at ease than he had been in New York. “You hated being in the city, didn’t you?” Bucky asked him after Steve had finished rattling on about how the no building in DC was taller than the Washington Monument. Steve kept his eyes downcast as he shrugged one shoulder upwards. “Why?”

“It’s changed,” Steve replied softly. “It’s not…it doesn’t look like home anymore, and it…” He shook his head. “It didn’t feel right.” Bucky bit his lower lip and reached a hand out to cover Steve’s with his own. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. Steve looked to him and smiled faintly. 

“It’s all right. I know it still means the world to you.” It did. New York was his home. It had always been his home, and he couldn’t imagine leaving it. That didn’t mean that he could expect Steve to feel the same way. 

“At least you didn’t want to move to Jersey,” he said with a grin. “Your ma would be really rollin’ in her grave then,” 

“You know, Jersey’s not too bad,” Steve said, lips twitching upwards. “There’s some nice parts.” Bucky couldn’t help the look of disgust that crossed his face, and Steve’s smile widened into a picture of pure innocence. “Maybe I’ll get a house out there, and you can visit me when you’re on break sometime.” 

“You buy a house in Jersey and I’m never talkin’ to you again you mook,” Bucky threatened. 

“Now how ‘bout that, finally figured out how to make you shut up for good, hmm?” 

“That’s how you wanna play this you little punk?” 

“Little house, big yard, I could get a fence and everything. What do you think of Paramus?” 

“I think you’ll be mighty lonely in Paramus.” Bucky sulked, arms crossed over his chest in annoyance. Steve chuckled into his pasta, and opened his mouth to say more when his eyes cut to the left sharply. Bucky's back straightened immediately, anxiety snapping through him as he watched Steve's joyful expression fade to something fast approaching ‘mission mode.’ Their dog whined beneath their table, red sauce staining his yellow muzzle. He pressed his body against Bucky’s legs and he flinched as whiskers traced across the hair on the back of his hand. “Steve?” he asked nervously. 

Steve’s blue eyes snapped back to look at him, and he grimaced. “Sorry,” he murmured. “It’s fine. You were saying?” Bucky could feel his hands start to tremble as they rested against the table. He shook his head in a jerking motion to the left, and the shaking got worse. He felt cold. Very cold. He should have dressed warmer. Steve was watching him, and Bucky felt his ears start to ring as white noise fought valiantly to block everything else out. Bucky drew his hands back. He pulled his sleeves down in an effort to keep warm. His teeth started to chatter. 

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I thought you weren’t looking at that anymore?” Bucky asked him. 

“It was off,” Steve told him. He turned it around. “For some reason it’s on.” Bucky’s eyes watched as more heads started to swivel in their direction, talking quietly to each other in suspicion. Steve was playing with his phone again, and then his features locked down.

“Christ,” Steve breathed out lowly. 

“Lord’s name,” Bucky intoned by habit alone. Steve’s gaze flicked up towards him, then towards their steadily growing group of onlookers. He turned his phone around and showed Bucky the text. It was from Natasha. 

Explosion in CA, Stark’s Bodyguard involved, media on high alert for statement. Get inside. Steve was already pulling a wad of cash from his pocket that was big enough to make Bucky feel nauseous. He slapped more than their dinner’s worth of bills onto the table, and then stood up. Bucky’s legs felt weak as he pushed himself up to follow after him. 

“Excuse me? You’re Captain America, yes?” someone asked. 

“Sorry, we need to head out,” Steve replied as he caught Bucky’s arm and held him upright. He was swaying badly. 

“Captain? Captain America-eh-Rogers? Wait-” Stevie hurried after them, pressing close to Bucky’s side even as he was getting loaded up into the side-cart. 

“You all right to ride?” Steve asked him quietly, and Bucky gave him a blank look. It was the best he could manage on short notice, and Steve grit his teeth. “Get on,” he murmured. He threw a leg over the bike, and Bucky leaned into Steve’s body. He closed his eyes as they started to drive back down the road. 

The media hounds that had found them at the restaurant were left in the dust, but they both knew that even though it was the first day they’d moved into the apartment: there would be a crew waiting for them when they got back. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tony had given his address to a terrorist on national television. Bucky sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and he stared at the news report as it played. He shivered violently under three thick blankets, and watched as Steve paced from one end of the apartment to the other. He’d been on the phone for hours, and no one could seem to get in touch with Tony or tell him what was happening. Natasha and Barton were both out of service for some reason, and Fury refused to tell them why. Bruce had, apparently, asked that he not be involved until the situation calmed down somewhat, and Thor was MIA. Which, in short, meant that the lovely men and woman of the Avengers were completely useless. 

Bucky looked at his own cell phone, and he texted Pepper a single question asking if everything was all right. She didn’t respond. He tucked his head into his knees and he forced himself to breathe in slowly, and then release the breath just as slowly. Steve threw his phone into a wall and both phone and sheetrock cracked under the force of his tantrum. 

“I’m going to fly out there,” he announced. 

“Okay,” Bucky replied. He didn’t look up. There was a video playing of the explosion that had nearly killed Happy. The news were playing it, and Tony’s declaration, on repeat. 

He liked Happy. Happy had been a genuinely kind individual who took his role very seriously. He was always talking on repeat about security and ensuring that everyone was doing their jobs correctly. He bordered on the obsessive, but Bucky had truly thought he was a pleasant man. He hadn’t treated Bucky differently in the slightest, and Bucky appreciated Happy’s demeanor. 

He pressed his hands to the sides of his head and took a deep breath. “This just in! A missile has been fired into Tony Stark’s house!” He felt Steve materialize at his side, and they watched as a news anchor picked up the entire fiasco. A chopper had flown towards the glistening white building and had fired a strike onto the innocent looking home. Bucky’s eyes took in what the reporter hadn’t. 

Pepper’s car was in the driveway, so was Tony’s most recent vehicle. There was another guest on premises. They were all still inside. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Bucky they’re out,” Steve whispered into his ear. 

“Turn it off,” Bucky breathed out. The sound fell deathly silent less then a second later. 

“It was just a few more seconds, I promise. I saw them. They got out. They’re fine. They’re okay, I saw them get out.” Steve pulled Bucky to his chest, and Bucky pressed his nose into Steve’s collarbone. His hands reached up and clung tightly to his hair and tried to push it all away. 

Bombs were exploding in his head. He flinched away from them, trapped in place by Steve’s firm grip. He could hear soldiers shouting for help. The floor beneath them was shifting, tipping; they were in a dive. They were going to crash. They were going to crash, and there was a voice echoing round and round in his head - screaming for help.   
Bucky’s stomach lurched and suddenly they were falling through a void. Steve’s voice was a garbled mess above his head and he couldn’t think. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t-

Water splashed over his head, and he flailed, striking out and stumbling backwards. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t-his legs gave out beneath him, and he opened his eyes. They were in the bathroom of Steve’s new apartment. The shower was running. Steve was half soaked in water, cupping his face between his palms and looking for all the world like his heart had been torn from his chest.

“They’re fine, Buck,” Steve told him, ignoring the water that was streaming over his head. “They’re fine.” Bucky’s breath hitched once more. 

“I can’t do this, Steve.” 

“I know,” he replied. “I know.” He pulled Bucky back to his chest, and Bucky prayed that one day soon: this would all be over. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Steve stayed as long as he could, but Bucky knew he had to leave once word got out that the President had been kidnapped. People did that nowadays. They kidnapped Presidents. Steve pressed a kiss to his brow, gave him one final parting hug, then left without a backwards glance. Bucky curled on his side and he drew the blankets up to his chest. 

He thought, idly, about calling someone so he wasn’t alone. Stevie was rolled onto his back, and he was chewing the skirting of the couch. Bucky watched him do it, watched as the fibers of the couch started to fray. His cell phone was resting on the table in front of him, and he shivered again as he burrowed his head into the blankets. Stevie had chewed a hole into the skirting and spat out the fibers so he could nose at Bucky’s side. The phone stayed where it was. Bucky half wondered if it was even on. 

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he reached out and picked it up. His fingers were trembling violently, and the hairs on his arm were upright. He was so cold, and he was just starting to realize that he’d never get any warmer. He took hold of the phone, and ducked back under his blankets. They folded over his head like a cocoon. Stevie hopped up next to him, and draped his furry body along Bucky’s waist. 

Pressing the ‘on’ button, Bucky squinted at it. Full battery. No missed calls. No messages. He thumbed it, poking slowly at the keys. His breath fogged the screen, and he rubbed it against his shirt. When he finished dialing the number he wanted, he pressed the glowing green phone icon and waited. 

It took almost four rings before someone picked up. The aged voice was tired and annoyed, and did nothing to make his tension decrease. “Hello?” his sister asked. 

“Becca?” Bucky choked out. 

“Bucky? What’s going on?” 

“I need – can you talk to me for a bit?” 

“Yes, yes. Have I told you what that fool boy of mine did the other day?” Bucky shrugged helplessly, and she pressed on without waiting for a response. “We were standing in line at the meat market, and I tell him I’ve just purchased a new StarkPhone. ‘Oh, those are real complicated, ma,’ says me idiot son. ‘I’ll have to teach you how to use it.’ Well I’m no fool and I know how to read, so I tell him he can take his good advice and shove it where the sun don’t shine. Well, that sends ol’ Rog-the butcher- into a hoot. He starts cacklin’ loud as can be and calls out his butcher’s boy and tells them to get me a big slap of meat for me. Now my son, he’s convinced that I just don’t understand and tries to talk his way out of it. 

“Kept yammering at me the whole way home, until finally I had to shut him up myself. You’d have thought that the boy swallowed his goldfish when I showed him how to work the data, wifi, and app settings on the darn thing. I may be eighty-seven, but I’m not an idiot!” 

“No, you’re not.” Bucky took a deep breath in and released it. “You’re not an idiot.”

“Neither are you, Buck.” 

“Tell me another?” Bucky asked her softly. She didn’t hesitate. She told him another. 

And another. 

And another. 

He listened as she got herself a glass of water. Listened as she walked about her house. She started cooking a pie of some sort eventually. She spoke to him all through the night. He listened to her as the sun came up, and whenever her aged voice fell soft, he quietly asked her for another. She always complied. 

Curled under the blankets on his bed, Bucky could almost imagine that he was back home in his own time. His Gran’ had come to see him and was looking down her shrewd nose at him. She huffed loudly and declared that ‘he would do,’ before stating all the ways he should improve in life. She liked him, he thought. In the end, before she died, he’d been relatively certain that his grandmother had liked him quite a bit. 

She was gone now. Before the war. That was nice, knowing that he’d been there to lose her, and that he hadn’t lost her after the fact. He wished he had something more to say in that regard, but there was nothing. 

“What happened to our old apartment?” he asked Becca sometime around seven. She paused and considered the question. 

Steve had never been able to afford his apartment after his mother died, and Bucky had been ready to move out by the time that came to pass. Steve hadn’t so much offered to share his home with Bucky, as Bucky had just appeared one day with all his worldly possessions. Worldly possessions included his youngest sister. Becca had moved in right along with him, and they’d made a good and proper home between the three of them. When money became truly difficult, the elderly Mary MacLauclan from across the hall had moved in as well. They all shared beds and split rent, and they managed to make it work out. 

When the war came, Bucky had sent home his money for Becca to use, and he knew she’d utilized it well. Their parents had kept an eye on Becca and Mrs. MacLauclan had done the same. Steve had said his money went back to Becca too. But their home and all their belongings must have disappeared at some point. It was obvious that Becca had eventually moved on. 

“Mrs. MacLauclan died a year or two after you fell,” Becca sighed. “I moved back in with Ma and Da, they helped me box all of your things. Howard Stark came ‘round and offered us a good sum of money to keep your things preserved. We didn’t let him have nothing important. Some cards, some photos, nothing else. The rest we kept. But…there was a fire and we lost a lot of it. Those cards and photos are probably all that’s left. Maybe his son-”

“You see the news?” Bucky asked. His head hurt and Stevie flopped to his side. He needed to be walked and was making quiet whining noises. Bucky was too tired to clean it up. 

“Yes. Is he all right?” 

“Don’t know,” Bucky replied. “Steve left to go help the President.” 

“Sounds very Captain America of him.”

“Yeah…yeah, that’s what I said.” Bucky hadn’t actually said much of anything when Steve left, but he was sure the feeling came across either way. 

There was a chime in his ear, and Bucky tilted the phone back to look at the screen. It was smudged after so long against his face, and he frowned at it. Steve.

“Becks, I gotta go.” 

“I love you,” she reminded him. No judgment. No blame. 

“I love you too, baby girl.” Her breath hitched on the other line, and he had to force himself to go before he started to cry again. 

He hung up, then answered the next call. “Steve?” he breathed out. 

“Hey Sunshine Kid,” Tony Stark replied. “Butch Cassidy said you were worried.” Relief snapped through Bucky’s body so hard and fast he almost couldn’t breathe.

“Tony,” he gasped. He sat upright. Those tears he’d held at bay for his sister’s goodbye appeared abruptly. “Are you – are you and, and Pepper – are you-”

“We’re okay.” No joke. No teasing. Tony sounded unbelievably tired. “We’re okay, kid.” Bucky had no idea why Tony and Steve always postured around each other like roosters around their prized hens, but Tony had never been anything more than a friendly associate to Bucky. If anything, they’d spent enough time together in the aftermath of the Invasion, that Bucky’s first thought to go to Pepper for help should have spoken for itself. He liked Tony Stark. He liked Pepper Pots. Any animosity that Tony and Steve had, just seemed unfathomable to him, because at the end of the day: Tony called him ‘kid’ and reminded him of mentors he’d had before the war. He reminded him of friendly old timers who sat at bars and tinkered with machines, dreaming of the day they’d do something big with their lives. “We’re okay.”

“You’re okay?” Bucky breathed out, confirming. 

“Yeah, kid. We’re okay.” Bucky’s shoulders sagged and he let his head hang low into his hands. 

“That’s good,” he whispered. He breathed in. He breathed out. He breathed in. He breathed out. “That’s good. Christ- that’s good.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two weeks later, Bucky sat in a recording studio and played his heart out for an audition tape. Somehow, compared to everything else that had happened recently, the tape didn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it probably should have been. 

Frankly, he was just grateful that no one he knew was injured or lost their lives in the production of the tape. Then again, he had astonishingly low standards these days. 

When he finished recording it, he made several copies, placed them in sealed envelopes, and sent them to his top ten schools along with his applications. It was a start.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the ghost of President Roosevelt haunts Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a truly tragic update to "Ghost in the Shell" I got around to finally getting this chapter finished. Hopefully this takes some of the sting off of "Ghost in the Shell" of any of those cross readers out there. 
> 
> The medal Bucky gets in this chapter is his Medal of Honor. It was recently revealed that he did in fact receive it in the comics. I wrote a fic about this event and you can find it on my page if you wanted more information on it. 
> 
> Apologies for the delay, but I will be working on getting the next chapter up faster. Thank you for your patience!

“Tell me again how we ended up getting asked to have dinner with the President of the United States?” Bucky asked, rummaging desperately through his closet for wherever they packed the tux Tony had bought him almost two months ago. Stevie was sitting at his feet, wagging his tail happily and looking completely filthy. He needed to give Stevie a bath. Right. Bath first, then tux. He stopped rummaging, and turned swiftly towards the bathroom, whistling for his dog to hop after him.

“He seemed really keen on showing his appreciation after Tony saved his life on Christmas.” Steve offered, trudging behind him and watching as Bucky all but toss Stevie into the tub. Bucky flicked the faucet on and held his hand under the water. This was one part of the future he’d never complain about. No more dirty dogs. No more waiting for water to boil. This was actually very nice. He flipped the diverter so the showerhead started up, and reached up to angle it towards Stevie’s muddy body. “You taking him with us?” his friend asked as he reached for the shampoo. Bucky froze.

“Bad idea. That’s probably a bad idea. Right? Right. I mean, Tony’s thing was one thing, but this is-” He looked up at Steve. “You’re sure I’m invited? I mean...you’re Captain America.” Steve shrugged with one shoulder.

“He just said he wanted to see you and me there for dinner.” Bucky shook his head in disgust. Steve didn’t see anything wrong with any of this. Clearly. “Not the first time you've met a president. You met Roosevelt.” Steve pointed out graciously. “You liked him.” Bucky had. The one time they’d made it back to the States before shipping out again, had been met with an impromptu award ceremony, and a quick dinner with his family before turning around and going right back to the war. They'd died in a plane crash less than two weeks after the fact too. Bucky couldn't even begin to form an emotional response towards that event, and frankly Steve knew that too. It was a dirty and underhanded tactic, and Bucky didn't appreciate it. 

Despite Bucky's distaste towards the reminder, President Roosevelt _had_ been a kind man. He had keen eyes and a nice smile. He'd been gracious to all of them, and he'd told Bucky's parents what an honor it was to have met _him_. Bucky's mother had been in tears, dabbing at her eyes as she thanked him. His sisters had been too busy trying to inspect his medal to care, and Becca had flirted shamelessly with Falsworth throughout it all. Bucky hadn’t known what to say to the President, and the Commandos had been equally uncertain. Jim and Gabe were both trying their hardest not to say anything that could be construed as disrespectful, even though both of them had very specific opinions on the segregation and internment of their people. Dernier and Falsworth weren’t Americans, and while they had a healthy respect for their President, they didn’t have the same misty eyed awe as the rest of them. Dugan had been surprisingly restrained, and had proven that he was perfectly capable of respecting authority when the person in charge deserved his respect. 

Bucky remembered Steve being more than a little touched by the ceremony. For once, it was the only ceremony that he'd attended, despite all the awards and medals he earned, and it hadn't even been  _his._ Bucky was the one Roosevelt had pinned the medal too, and yet Steve had gotten misty eyed about the whole thing. Even now, he recalled it with an absurd amount of fondness. Roosevelt had spoken to Steve for several long minutes, speaking to him as an equal. Steve had been reduced to the ninety pound asthmatic, staring up at the man with wide eyes. In many ways, meeting Roosevelt _was_ a good memory. In the height of eugenics, Bucky had watched as two two great Americans, both burdened by illness and a sense of morality, and who dedicated their lives to helping the same people who put them down, met each other for the first and last time. It  _had_ been a touching sight. The memory could have been a great one for the annals, but it was also the last time Bucky had seen his family before the fall. It was a bittersweet memory that was agony to think back on. He didn't like dwelling on it. 

“It’s just dinner,” Steve told him quietly.

“It’s dinner with the President.”

“You’ve had dinner with the President before.”

“Not in this century I haven’t,” Bucky muttered, and Steve rolled his eyes. “And not at the White House!”

“Leave the dog for now, and your suit’s in the closet in the hall. It’s in one of those bag things that Tony had. I think Pepper put it in there.”

“Oh really?” Distracted, he turned away from his dog who immediately shook violently to get the water off his fur. Water droplets flew in all directions, and Bucky yelped as he was immediately soaked. Steve snorted loudly.

“Yes, really. Take a shower, I’ll put your suit on the bed. It’s going to be fine. Besides...Tony’s going to be there.”

That was possibly the one shining moment that came out of all of this chaos. Tony had decided, rather impulsively, to have open heart surgery in the days following Ellis’ kidnapping. It had almost been four weeks since they’d last seen each other, and Pepper had been updating Bucky via text message the whole while. According to her, Tony had come out of surgery in one piece and was recovering as best as he was able to. Jarvis connected them to one another as well, passing messages between the Stark heir and Bucky periodically throughout the day.

Tony was the first person to mention the dinner. He’d sent Bucky a text almost five minutes before Steve had come home with the news, and Bucky had been a panic since.  “It’s just dinner,” Steve valiantly attempted to remind him.  

“Presidential dinner,” Bucky ruthlessly retorted. There was no way he was forgetting something that obvious.

Stevie shook again, and Bucky wondered what he’d done to deserve that kind of treatment. Then again, all of his friends seemed determined to stiff him these days. He sighed and snatched a towel off the rack to rub his dog down with. “Dumb mutt,” he murmured, fluffing the dog’s hair.

Somehow, he just knew this wasn’t going to be fun.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

President Ellis was nothing like President Roosevelt. For one, Bucky didn’t vote for him. He told Steve that in a low whisper as they were being led into the main dining room, and Steve had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It was worth it, though. Captain America took himself too seriously, and Steve Rogers was not Captain America 100% of the time. Steve Rogers didn’t care much for Ellis either, and it was obvious to anyone who spent more than five minutes looking at Ellis’ politics. That didn’t change Steve’s loyalty, just the fact that Bucky had a perfect opportunity to make Steve laugh.

Apparently history declared Roosevelt to be a visionary, and one of the greatest presidents to ever live. People who met Roosevelt were considered honored and revered, and Bucky thought it was rather humorous. Roosevelt had a dry wit that had melded perfectly with Steve’s own humor. He’d been a good man, who had done what he could in a bad situation.

Ellis, as far as he could tell, was primarily an opportunist. He enjoyed being the president of the United States and all of the perks that that gave him. Bucky had met the man on two prior occasions and hadn’t figured out how he felt about him. There always seemed to be a photographer floating in the wings, and he didn’t seem to have the charisma that Roosevelt had naturally exuded.

Once they arrived for dinner, a secret service member led them into the drawing room. Ellis was already there, speaking animatedly with Tony and Pepper about something. Colonel Rhodes was at their side, watching over the situation with perfect military posture. Ellis grinned when he saw them approach, and stood to greet them.

“Steve, James-” Bucky startled at the name, blinking rapidly as his mind sluggishly attempted to catch up. He could see Tony’s lips moving from behind Ellis’ shoulder. _James?_ “So good to see you again.” Ellis shook Steve’s hand enthusiastically before turning to Bucky and doing the same.

“Same to you, sir. You seem to be recovering well from your trial.”

“Yes, yes, terrible business. More stress than I thought I’d have to handle, that’s for sure! Now come, come!” Steve had his patented Captain America smile on, and he nudged Bucky’s arm subtly as Ellis started to jump into a tangent of sorts. Taking the opening as it was, Bucky slipped past them both and made a beeline towards Tony.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked. The billionaire looked like he’d lost weight since his operation, and the familiar blue glow was absent from beneath his shirt. Unconsciously, Tony kept lifting his hand to touch his chest, as though to confirm the arc reactor was gone. He seemed tired too, though the haughty expression he normally wore was perfectly affixed on his features.

“Just ducky, though I’m starting to get tired of people asking me that.” Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he looked towards Pepper.

“How is he?” he asked.

“He’s been taking all of his medication properly, and he sleeps like the dead, but he’s fine, Bucky. He really is. Come here,” she reached out and wrapped him in a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“You as well,” he replied. Her perfume was lovely. Something sweet he didn’t know the name of. He liked it. “How’ve you been, sir?” he asked the Colonel, holding out his hand.

“It’s Rhodey, Bucky, and not too bad. Just keeping an eye on this ass hole.” The Colonel bumped Tony’s arm with an affectionate grin, and Stark rolled his eyes in the process.

“Heard back from any of those schools yet?” Tony asked curiously. He was all but bouncing on the balls of his feet as he spoke, and Bucky licked his lips as he nodded.

“I’ve got an interview I need to do up in New York, and a live audition at Juilliard.” That letter had just arrived in the mail, and Bucky’s nerves had been shot to hell for the rest of the night. Steve had come home from work to find him playing the piano, furiously repeating song after song. He’d been at it for nearly fifteen hours by the time Steve had put a stop to it. Serum or no, Bucky’s fingers had burned for the next day, and Steve had made him promise not to practice again until his arms stopped feeling so gelatinous.

“That’s wonderful news, Bucky!” Pepper said, smiling at him proudly. He flushed in response, shifting awkwardly as he glanced over his shoulder to where Ellis was chatting Steve up in front of a photographer.

Steve’s shoulders were back and he looked perfectly confident and at ease with the situation. His eyes were narrowed though, and from the way his hands went to rest in front of him, Bucky wondered what they were talking about. Steve wasn’t happy.

“Man’s like a damn broken record,” Tony grumbled.

“What’s going on?”

“He wants the Avengers as an on call protection group for the Executive Branch,” Rhodey explained carefully.

“What, all of them?” As if on cue, a secret service agent led Natasha into the room. She looked glamorous in a beautiful red dress that left nothing to the imagination. Bucky felt his mouth go dry as he looked at her. She looked stunning. Peggy Carter had nothing on Natasha Romanoff, and Bucky would fight Steve until the day he died on that front.

Clint slid in behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders slumped forward slightly. Next to her, he didn’t seem to quite know how to dress himself, let alone how to stand still. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and his eyes kept flicking about the room.

Not to miss being the center of attention, Ellis stepped forward immediately and held out his hand. “Ah, Agent Romanoff, thank you for joining us!” She shook his hand gracefully, and nodded her head.

“It’s not every day that I receive invitations from the President,” she said with a pleasant smile. Bucky half wondered if Ellis realized that it wasn’t necessarily as gracious as he clearly took it to be. The man let out a great booming laugh and nodded along with her. When he glanced over towards Clint he seemed to falter, though, and then looked back to Natasha. “It’s so kind of you to invite us to your home like this,” she circumvented easily.

Bucky doubted that his invitation had extended towards Clint at all, but Ellis rallied himself well. “Of course, of course. It’s so good to have you both here.” Clint’s eyes actually rolled heavenward, but a butler saved him from having to say anything on the matter.

“Ladies, gentlemen, if you’d like to reconvene in the dining room? Dinner will be ready shortly.” Ellis proudly led the party forwards, and Bucky was starting to feel like this dinner felt more like a wandering circus than anything else.

“Long time no see, Katniss.” Tony grinned as he moved towards the archer. He clapped the man on the back with an open palm, and Clint’s lips twitched upwards.

“Heard you had surgery. How’d that go?”

“Oh you know, just your everyday operation. No harm no foul. You ever coming back to New York? I got that archery range all set up.”

“Don’t know. Depends if I get the green light from Fury,” Clint replied with a shrug. “Be nice to see how it came out.”

“We got all the toys,” Tony enthused.

“Isn’t that the same pitch you gave Bruce?” Bucky asked. His memories of the Helicarrier weren’t the sharpest, but he was almost certain that those were the exact words he’d given Banner all those months ago.

“Worked didn’t it?” Tony groused.

“Where is Banner anyway? He wasn’t invited to the super secret, ‘thank you for saving my life’ job-offering-dine-in either?” Clint asked even as he hung back a few steps to be in line with Bucky. He put an awkward arm around his shoulders and let it go just as quickly. “Hey,” he greeted, brow furrowing as though he wasn’t sure if he’d done that wrong.

“Hey,” Bucky replied. Of all of the Avengers, Bucky could honestly say that he interacted with Natasha and Clint the least. It seemed as though as soon as the mess with the aliens in New York had been swept away, so too had their resident super spies/assassins. Bucky had spoken with Clint only a handful of times, mostly on the phone, and he’d only truly interacted with Natasha, in any meaningful way, perhaps on seven or eight occasions. He’d liked them as he liked anyone who wasn’t treating him like a crazy person, but he didn’t really know them all that well. Clint had always been somewhat awkward around him, though, and he supposed that just went with the territory as far as the archer was concerned.

“I’m sure his invitation was lost in the mail,” Steve spoke up, just loud enough to carry his voice over to where Ellis was attempting to charm Natasha about the history of the White House. The president didn’t appear to have heard, though Bucky doubted that he had missed it entirely.

“And Cap comes from behind for a surprising win,” Tony muttered.

“It’s okay, it was left somewhere with mine,” Clint replied.

“You didn’t get an invitation to this shin-dig?” Tony didn’t sound nearly as surprised as he probably should have considering how their voices were carrying.

“Not unless you count being dragged out of bed by Nat with like...five minutes to prepare.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed.

“That’s okay, I found out via text message from this jerk, a few minutes before Steve came bursting through the door.” Bucky motioned to Tony and Steve respectively, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“And yet you still had enough time to shower and get dressed,” Steve mused. They were in the small dining room now, and all that was missing were the placeholders saying who could sit where. Someone had the foresight to not sit them at the grand table, instead, settling them to a smaller one that was more intimate and less showy.

Steve and Natasha were ushered into place on either side of the president, and Bucky and Clint sat beside them. Rhodey sat next to Clint, and Pepper next to Bucky. Tony took the other end of the table, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Thank you all for coming here tonight,” Ellis said again. A server swiftly filled glasses of water and wine for everyone seated, and Bucky watched as food started to come from the kitchen.

He grimaced as hands reached out on all sides, adjusting this, placing that, and lifting lids. Steve slid a hand under the table and gave his knee a squeeze before letting it go. It was the only offer of assistance Steve could truly give at the moment, and Bucky was grateful if nothing else.

“You all right?” Steve whispered softly, voice barely registering.

“Fine,” Bucky replied even as someone else appeared behind him to adjust the napkin in his lap. Clint looked equally as uncomfortable across the way, and his shoulders slumped even further.

“Please,” Ellis announced, “begin!” Bucky glanced down at the food in front of him, grateful beyond measure that Pepper was sitting next to him.

“What is it?” he asked softly. Steve’s head tilted towards him even as he reached for his utensils. The little sneak was listening for an answer too. She carefully lifted a spoon of what should have been soup to her lips.

“Peanut and lentil,” she replied softly. That sounded more pretentious than anything else, and Bucky poked at it. His mother had gone through a phase where she was determined to cook lentils, and despite all evidence to the contrary: they apparently weren’t easy to cook. For nearly five months she attempted to make lentils properly and they never came out right. Even in the depression, he’d willfully starved than eat them. His stomach clenched unhappily and he glanced towards Steve.

His mouth was struggling not to twitch into a smile. “ _Lentils_ , huh?” he asked innocently. “Those are your favorite, aren’t they Buck?” His eyes were bright and earnest, and Bucky scowled at him. He had a thing or two to say about lentils and where Steve could shove them, but Ellis immediately jumped in.

“Are they really? I had heard that you were quite the fan. The menu tonight was specifically designed for you all to enjoy.”

He blinked slowly. “You _don’t_ say?” he asked, voice dropping even as he glared at Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve took a spoonful of his soup and ate it without even glancing his direction once.

“Yes, is it to your liking?” Bucky’s cheek twitched as he forced himself not to scowl at his soup. Picking up his spoon he brought it to his lips slowly. The smell of lentils, even after seven decades, still set his stomach clenching in protest. He liked to think he managed to swallow it with as much grace as was physically possible.

“Gee sir, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something quite like _this_ ,” Bucky said, forcing a smile. Steve choked on his soup, coughing wetly into his napkin. “Breathe _after_ you swallow, Steve.” Bucky chastised, giving his friend a few hard slaps on the back for good measure.

“I’m good,” he replied, waving him off. Bucky swatted him once more just to get the point across.

“Sure?”

“Positive, wouldn’t want to keep you from your meal,” Steve grinned. Bucky’s heel accidentally found Steve’s toe and ground down hard. Bastard deserved it.

Pepper, the gift that she was, easily slipped in and began to ask all the right questions that distracted Ellis from pursuing any further interest in Bucky for the time being. Tony winked at him in response, and Bucky supposed it was a win for now. He poked at his soup listlessly, noting that at least Clint and Natasha seemed put off by their starter as well. By the time the servers came by with to collect the soup, he was well and truly hungry. He glanced longingly towards the new items being brought, and figured he could at least handle the thought of eating a salad, even if it was more decoratively artistic than appetizing.

Ellis commanded attention as he spoke, but Bucky found himself drifting more often than not. He was honestly bored of the meal, and the fact that he was forced to sit there instead of rehearsing like he’d wanted to that night was only putting him more on edge. He tapped his fingers mindlessly as he waited for something more interesting to happen. There was a piano a few rooms over, Bucky had spotted it while they were walking in, and he half considered the fact that he was aching to go over to it. It was an addiction, pure and simple, and Bucky had no desire to give it up.

Servers came and went, and Bucky ate the food mechanically.  It was all so strange to the taste, covered in tangy sauce and plated with garnishes. When this was all over, Bucky had every intention of stopping at one of the fast food joints on the strip. It had to be more appealing than this.

Steve’s foot shifted under the table, tapping his briefly in a simple, yet recognizable, pattern. _You okay?_ he asked, even as his eyes were trained on Ellis and his body showed every sign of being focused on the garbage the man was spewing. Still tapping his fingers, Bucky changed his tempo to follow the dot-dash pattern of Morse Code.

_Tired. Bored. Hungry. Home soon?_

Steve grimaced at the question, and Bucky sighed. He hadn’t thought that an escape was in their near futures either. Taking a deep breath, he continued poking at his food and waiting for the politicians to cease _politicianing_. Ellis hardly seemed to know how to keep his mouth shut, and while Pepper and Tony seemed experts at maneuvering the man, it was clear that he was nothing if not determined to get a weigh in from the other Avengers.

Soon enough, Ellis managed to ask Bucky a direct question, and Bucky was so lost in his boredom he truly had no idea what the man said. “Sorry, sir, I was just thinking about how this place looks so different than Roosevelt’s time.” Steve damn-near choked on the water he’d just started to sip at and he turned to look at Bucky with an immediately interested look on his face. Bucky had never stepped foot in the White House before, and Steve knew it. 

“You visited the Roosevelt in office?” Ellis asked, mouth opening and closing in shock. Sold. hook line and sinker. Bucky grinned widely and nodded.

“Oh I never got the official tour or nothing,” he drawled, 1940’s Brooklyn accent elongating with every word he spoke. “I wasn’t nearly as popular as this fella, but President Roosevelt had the Commandos over for dinner twice a year. It was good for the paps and all, but truth was: nobody could manage to get cigars like Dugan, and Roosevelt was rather fond of them.”

“You smuggled cigars into the White House for Roosevelt?” Tony asked, eyes growing comically wide.

“They weren’t _cigars_ , Bucky,” Steve chastised, rolling his eyes. “They were cigarettes. Dernier and Dugan used to pick them up, and roll the tobacco themselves. Never could figure out how they did it, but they always managed to find the supplies. They made a fortune on those things, selling them amongst the troops.” Tickled that Steve was going along with him, Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right. That _was_ Dernier doing all the dirty work wasn’t it? But ol’ Roosevelt, he was something else. He’d light four of them at a time, crackin’ jokes and talkin’ proud. Never saw another man do it like he did. Damn near lit that carpet on fire, beggin’ your pardon ma’ams.” Bucky tipped his head in deference to Pepper and Natasha who both looked so thoroughly amused that he couldn’t help himself from going on.

“I’d never heard of this before,” Ellis told them. He looked like he’d been given the gospel, and Bucky had to fight to keep a straight face.

“I’m sure it’s all been kept tidy, the chair of course had to be replaced.”

“The chair?” Ellis pressed.

“Oh, you didn’t hear about the chair?” Natasha asked, shifting in her seat and carefully tucking one lock behind her ear. Steve’s foot shifted and tapped Bucky’s. Oh it was on. “Everyone’s heard that story so far. How did it go again?” she glanced towards Clint who tilted his head up towards the ceiling.

“Was it 1800s oak...maple?” Clint mused.

“Elm,” Steve supplied helpfully.

“That was it, _elm_.” Clint snapped his fingers. “1800s elm, and you what, William Telled it?”

“With the shield,” Bucky nodded. “There was Roosevelt, chipper as could be. All the Commando’s too. Now, we’d all been drinkin’ - mind - and you know how us soldier boys get when we have a few sips in us. We weren’t makin’ the best of decisions. But Ol’ Steve here can drink us all under the table, and he was sober as sober can be.”

“And Roosevelt,” Clint starts laughing. “Roosevelt- tell them what Roosevelt did.”

“Well I will, I’ll tell him what Roosevelt did,”

“Bucky, perhaps it’s not polite,” Steve interjected.

“It’s classic, Steve, it’s classic!” Clint argued.

“Yeah, Steve, it’s classic,” Tony whined.

“What did Roosevelt do?” Ellis asked, looking at Bucky intently, eyes wide with childish glee.

“Well he looked right at Steve, and he said, ‘Son, I’ve heard you’re the best in the land with that thing, a true crack shot.’ And Steve says, ‘Yes sir, I am.’ So Roosevelt goes, ‘Son, It’d be an honor if you could show me just how good with that shield you are, so I can look the American people in the face and say honestly that their faith is in the right man.'” Clint was laughing loudly at this point, tears in his eyes.

“Then tell him-tell him what happened next,” he encouraged.

“Now, Bucky, this isn't exactly an appropriate story,” Steve tried again, eyes twinkling.  

“Don’t you be blushin’ on me Steve, I watched you do this with a President, and the President _himself_ just gave me orders to finish this story. So I’mma gonna.” Steve held up his hands in defeat, and Ellis scooted forwards in his chair. “So Steve says, ‘Sir, I can hit any target you’d like, under any condition you’d like. What will it be?’ And Roosevelt thinks about it for a moment. He thinks about it long and hard and he points to this little glass bowl filled with apples - he sure liked his apples - and he said ‘go fetch me one.’ So Frenchie goes and grabs him an apple. Roosevelt holds up this apple and says. ‘Knock this from my hand’ and he holds it up like this,” Bucky showed his open palm, and Ellis nodded quickly in excitement. “So Steve looks at it for a moment, and then he looks around the place, and he’s gotta make sure that he doesn’t hit Roosevelt, because he’s the President and it wouldn’t be a good thing if Captain America hit the President with his shield.”

“And did he?” Ellis asked.

“Nope! Steve hit that apple good ‘n true. Never saw a better throw in all my life. He threw it perfectly, and the only thing that suffered for it was that poor chair.”

“What happened to the chair?”

“Well, that’s the problem with the shield, sir,” Steve told him sheepishly. “It bounces back.”

“It bounced back perfectly,” Bucky added on revenantly. “It soared straight through that apple, cutting it in half, and then it snapped against that poor chair, and sailed through the air to Steve’s waiting hand like a duck to its mother.” Steve snorted at that, rolling his eyes heavenward at the description. “All that kinetic energy had the shield smashing that chair to bits though, and Roosevelt took one look at it, and what’d he say, Steve?”

‘“Don’t you worry boys, cut up one chair, two more will take its place!’” The quip came back so fast that Bucky _did_ keel over laughing. He wasn’t the only one either. The other Avengers and Ellis exploded into loud guffaws and Clint was actually crying at the end of it. Bucky was glad he passed the end of the joke over, because he wasn’t sure he could have come up with a better end to their tale. He rubbed at his eyes, shoulders shaking as he tried to catch his breath.

Okay. Dinner was worth it if it meant they could pull the wool over Ellis’ eyes. It really was.

Clint looked like he’d never been more proud of anyone in his life, and Natasha was well and truly properly amused. Bucky could almost see Pepper’s head turning about the possibilities of getting him set up in a creative writing course as well as a music track. Tony tipped his glass towards them and Rhodey politely laughed a few times and then tried not to look like he was mocking their elected leader.

Overall, dinner most certainly could have been worse.

And hours later, when Ellis finally got around to officially asking the Avengers to join his staff,  Steve declined. He told Ellis that he simply respected the dedication and the position of the agents too much to want to replace them. His position was in the field, defending the nation, and they were far more qualified to defend a single individual. It was the most polite slap in the face Bucky had ever seen Steve give, and he’d seen him give a few. The other Avengers followed his lead, apologizing that they wouldn’t be able to take him up on his offer and assuring him that they’d be there if he ever needed them for anything else.

“What about you, James?” Ellis asked. “You’re not technically an Avenger.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m retired from government work of any kind,” Bucky replied politely. There was an itch under his skin letting him know that even thinking about joining up was going to give him anxiety. He had seen what had happened to Tony. He had seen what was happening to Steve. He was sick of it, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

“I had heard that,” Ellis mused. Steve had told him, Bucky was sure. Steve would have already said that Bucky wasn’t interested before it even got to this point. That Ellis kept pushing only made Bucky feel a touch more vindicated about playing a prank on the man. “What are your plans now?”

“School,” Bucky replied. “I just applied to a few schools...I’m gonna see if I can get a degree.” Ellis seemed surprised at that, and tilted his head.

“A degree, hm? That’s a very good thing for a young war hero to have.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What are you thinking about pursuing? Politics?” The idea was repulsive.

“Music,” he replied. Ellis’ shock was obvious. It wasn’t a good shock either. Bucky felt his elation at his dinner joke souring immediately as he felt a battle starting. “I haven’t settled on Jazz piano or Classical,” he babbled, embarrassment flooding him like a sharp sting. He was talking to the highest elected official in the land, and he was going to study _music_.  

“I didn’t know you could play!” Ellis finally managed to get out.

“He’s really good,” Steve said before Bucky could intercede. He placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing it firmly and steadying him in place. Regardless of everything else, Steve wasn't going to let him fight this alone. If there was ever an underdog being bullied - Steve was there. That he was there now, made Bucky's heart burst with affection. As broken and as splintered as they were, as much as Steve hated the idea of Bucky going to college away from him, he was still his friend. He was still his brother. The only person who could critique Bucky's choices was Steve, and the defense was so comforting to hear. “The best pianist I’ve ever heard. I’m sure he’ll do very well in school.”

“Where are you thinking of going?” Ellis pressed.

“I’ve got an interview with Juilliard,” Bucky replied.

“Impressive...”

 

“Thank you, sir.”  

"It is impressive. He's going to get in. I know it," Steve declared. He met Bucky's eyes, forcing a smile. "I know it." And if he did get in, Steve knew Bucky would leave. Bucky's stomach clenched painfully. None of this was fair. 

 

“I wish you all the luck in the world, son.”

“Thank you, sir,” he managed to get out. It still hurt. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bucky didn’t know why it surprised him when he woke up the next day to hear the President candidly telling a reporting that he looked forward to seeing Bucky play once he got accepted into Juilliard. He didn’t know why he thought he’d be able to keep it a secret. He stared at the TV, vaguely aware that Steve was cursing up a storm behind him, and he felt like the world had dropped out from under his feet.

“I’ll take care of it,” Steve promised, though Bucky knew there was nothing that they could do to fix it. It was already out there. If Bucky did get accepted into Juilliard, if he did end up graduating, it would all be under the veil that he was Bucky Barnes, famed hero of World War II. It would all be because the President had given him an endorsement.

“It’s fine,” Bucky told Steve hollowly. “It’s...it’s fine. Just...leave it alone.”

“It’s not fine it’s-” Steve’s phone started to ring. Of course it did. Bucky glared at the floor, hands clenching into fists as Steve snatched it from the table and hit ‘ignore.’ “Bucky you’re allowed to want to do things on your own without-” the phone started ringing again. He hit ‘ignore.’ “Without the world breathing down your neck!”

“There’s nothing that can stop that now Steve-” it was ringing again. Steve’s hand tightened around it and it crunched under his fingers. Startled, he looked down at the bent metal and plastic. Shrugging, he tossed it in the bin and looked back at Bucky.

“Listen to me,” he knelt before Bucky on the couch. “You are a brilliant pianist. You were before the war, you were during the war, and you are now. You’ve got everything it takes to get into Juilliard, and you’re going to do it. You’re going to get into Juilliard, and it’s not because you’re a war hero. It’s not because the President gave a recommendation. It’s not because of anything except for this,” he tapped Bucky’s forehead, then squeezed Bucky’s hands, “and _these_.”

A rough pounding came at the front door, and Steve’s jaw clenched tight. His hands gripped Bucky’s and Bucky shook his head. “Go,” Bucky told his friend quietly. Every muscle in Steve’s body was locked tight as he pushed himself to his feet and marched towards the door.

He threw it open, all but spitting in rage as he towered over the poor SHIELD agent come to deliver whatever message Steve needed to hear. “There’s a code red- we need you back on base,” the agent hurried out, shrinking under the weight of Steve’s ire.

“How bad?” Steve hissed.

“It’s bad.” Bucky could see Steve’s hands clenching and unclenching, he could see him struggling to remain calm.

“Go, Steve,” Bucky told him quietly. His friend looked back at him, all but sagging in defeat.

“Buck….”

“Just go.” He did. Head down, shield slung on one arm, and shoulders slumping, he gave Bucky a firm hug before following the SHIELD agent out the door and down to the street below.

Bucky tilted his head back and looked up to the ceiling. Typical. Just when they finally started to talk to one another, something came and interfered. He half wondered if God had it out for them, but he wasn’t nearly religious enough to believe that.

Sighing, Bucky dragged himself to the piano and started to play. He tapped at the keys and let the melodies drift into each other, bobbing his head in time with the song and trying to wash away the feelings of anxiety and disappointment that were warring within him. Pepper would likely call him soon to talk about how he wanted to proceed. For someone as busy as Pepper Potts, she somehow always made time for him. She’d been championing this from the start, and he didn’t know what to say. He’d screwed up. He never should have told Ellis his plans.

It was karma for teasing him in his own home. Roosevelt’s ghost had come down and cursed him. This was his penance.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clint knocked on Bucky’s door around 12:00 in the afternoon, dressed in faded jeans and a worn hoodie. He looked tired, but comfortable in his new clothes, and he leaned against the doorframe with brows raised over the top of his sunglasses. “Wanna go out for a few hours?” he asked blandly.

“Steve tell you to come by?” Bucky asked instead. It was the only thing he could think of.  

“Yeah, but it gave me an excuse to get off base for a little while. Fuck knows I needed an excuse. Come on, we can walk your dog and you can tell me all about what a stick in the mud your best friend can be.” Stevie, predictably, chose that moment to shove passed Bucky’s knees and press up against Clint’s side. The SHIELD agent dropped a hand onto the dog’s head and scratched his ears absently.

Bucky took a leash and attached it to his lab’s collar, and they did go for a walk. Stevie looked up at Clint like he was the second coming, and it was surprising to see such affection from a dog that generally wasn’t too fond of outsiders. When they made it to a small park, they stopped to let the lab rest for a while, and Clint sprawled back on a bench while the dog lounged over his feet. Clint barely said two words the whole time, just grunted and nodded at anything Bucky said, and Stevie didn’t seem to mind one bit.

It was a warmer day, considering it was January, but that didn’t stop the wind from biting against their skin. It whipped about violently and ruffled Stevie’s fur. One of Clint’s hands kept tugging at his wrist absently and he was surprisingly quiet. Bucky wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, but the SHIELD agent seemed more interested in catching some sleep than walking around town.

“You can just go, you know. You don’t have to babysit.” Bucky told him, feeling anger starting to slip through him at the ridiculousness of the situation. Clint was the one who asked him out, not the other way around, and yet here they were.

Clint sighed and shook his head. “Nah, sorry, it’s not that. It’s actually nice, not talking for a bit. Feel like all I do these days is talk.”

“Who do you talk to?”

“Head doctors and shrinks and far too many people interested in knowing what it’s like to have a god in your head.” Clint sat up and leaned over his knees. He settled one elbow on his leg and rested his chin in his palm. “S’nice listening to someone else for a while.”

“Are you all right?” Bucky asked him quietly, and Clint tilted his head towards him with a wry smile on his face. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but Bucky didn’t doubt there were dark circles under each one. He’d been happy enough to engage in their game the night before, but he’d been tense and miserable before and after that. Even now, Clint’s body oozed exhaustion. Bucky didn’t know what he should do to help. He had enough trouble sleeping on his own, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to help someone else.

“I’m all right,” Clint confirmed. “Just going stir crazy. It’s been, what, eight months? Something like that? Since New York? Been the longest time I’ve been off duty since I started at SHIELD.”

“I thought you were on missions.” To be fair, he hadn’t really thought much of anything. He didn’t know Clint very well, and while they’d spoken, he wasn’t certain what to say to the man. As it stood, he had no idea what it was like having a god in his head either. There was really no middle ground they could meet on.

And maybe, Bucky conceded internally, that was the problem. Meeting people on the middle ground these days hadn’t been something he’d been all too willing to do. He’d drawn a line in the sand for Steve when it came to moving to DC permanently, and their relationship had only suffered for it.

“Not cleared yet,” Clint explained. He tugged at his wrist again, and then scowled. “It’s not safe to have me in the field if I could turn around and kill everyone at the drop of a pin. It’s not safe to go home...” he trailed off, shoulder hunching even more. Bucky half-wondered where home was for Clint. He didn’t think it was polite to ask.

“They really think you’d do that?”

“Hm?”

“Kill everyone at the drop of a pin?”

“Who’s to say I won’t?” Bucky shrugged. He had no idea how SHIELD worked. He also had no idea what he’d do if suddenly one of the Commandos went on a rogue killing spree and then returned as if nothing had happened. He shook the thought from his head almost as soon as it crossed his mind. Clint hadn’t returned like nothing had happened. He was drained, physically and mentally, and it didn’t look like that was going to let up anytime soon.

Clint’s left hand returned to rubbing at his opposite wrist, and Bucky frowned as he watched the nervous habit. He’d nudged his sleeve up slightly, and when he did, Bucky’s eyes was drawn to a harsh red patch of skin. There was a scar running around Clint’s right wrist, and just above that was a small metal bracelet. He was rotating it over and over, rubbing the skin beneath it raw.

“Hey, you’re hurting yourself,” Bucky murmured, eyes growing wide as he stared at the scar. Clint’s hand fell still and he looked down at the bracelet.

“Not a fan of cuffs, no matter what they look like.”

“Take it off?” Bucky suggested.

“Can’t.” Clint held out his wrist and Bucky tentatively reached out towards the silver band. It was thin and seemingly innocuous. Nothing unique about it, except that Clint was right. It was small and tightly clamped about his wrist. No amount of twisting would get it off. Bucky didn’t even know how he managed to get it on. “It’s a tracking unit...amongst other things. It keeps track of where I am incase some god decides to Jedi mind trick me back into service.”

“Is that likely?” Bucky asked.

“Who knows?” Clint sighed. “In any case...that’s the point of this,” he shook his wrist again, “Can’t take it off without SHIELD’s permission. Can’t slip it, can’t break it, can’t remove it.”

“Can’t get rid of it at all?”

“Well, not without losing my hand.” Clint laughed as if it were funny, and Bucky felt sick at the thought. “Not sure I’ve reached that level of low just yet.” The smile faded from his face, and Clint dropped his sleeve back over his wrist. This time, he didn’t rub at it at all. It seemed to take a conscious effort not to. Bucky watched as Clint’s fingers twitched absently, nervous energy still sliding through him.

“Yet?”

“I don’t like cuffs.” Bucky’s wrists burned as he considered that. He had a sharp memory flash through his mind: Zola hovering overhead, leather straps holding him to the table, the feeling of his blood pumping out, and poison pumping in. His fingers clenched tight, and he forced his lungs to expand. From beside him, Clint was watching him with a wary expression. “Sorry,” he offered.

“Not your fault,” Bucky replied.

“How’s that going, anyway?” Clint rubbed the back of his head and hiked up his jacket to the chill. “Dealing with...things.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said easily. He was getting better at talking to Steve about his issues, but he wasn’t going to just talk to anyone about them. Clint snorted.

“Sure, I’m fine too. We’re all fine.”

“I started talking to my sister again,” Bucky announced, and Clint paused as he considered that. His lips quirked up in a sad smile, and he nodded.

“Guess you’re one up on me.”

“You don’t talk to your sister?”

“Brother, and nah. I haven’t talked to him in about ten years or so. Probably longer. I was what...seventeen? Eighteen? Last we spoke? I don’t know. Heard he was a Fed now or something, can’t remember what department. Never really came up.”

“You don’t get along?”

“Not really. Hard to describe. You grew up poor, right? That’s what all the history books said.” The non-sequitur wasn’t all that surprising. Bucky nodded his head in agreement, and just followed Clint’s dialogue without worrying too much about it. Vaguely he wondered if Steve had asked Clint to come by more to help Clint than to help Bucky. He’d prefer if that was the case. Bucky’s grief over his school plans being revealed to the press was not something he really wanted to have a chaperone for, and Clint seemed to genuinely want to talk to someone unaffiliated with SHIELD.

“Yeah, we didn’t have much growin’ up. Couldn’t get much of anything at all, really.”

“Same with Barn’ an’ me. Our parents died when we were real young, and we got bounced around a lot until we finally called it quits. There was this circus in town, and it seemed like a good idea at the time - go join up and make something of yourself.”

“Sounds like the army,” Bucky snorted.

“Oh I did that too. Soon as I turned seventeen, though don’t tell anyone.” He winked, then, and a hint of a smile started to grow on his face. His shoulders relaxed somewhat, and Bucky grinned as he looked at the man. “Barn’ and I worked the circus for years. I think I was, what? Eleven? When we first got there? I don’t remember, now. That’s where I learned how to shoot.” He drew his hands apart in the pantomime of a bow and arrow. “It was good while it lasted I guess…”

“What happened?” Clint’s smile was chased away by a ghost from his past, and his head angled down towards the dog at their feet.

“Grew up, found out the circus was a front for an illegal smuggling operation and that they were trying to train Barney and me to be their muscle.” Sighing, he nudged a stone with his booth. “I kicked up a fuss, got my ass handed to me by every person there - including my big brother. Woke up half a day later, covered in blood and ditched in the parking lot. The circus had moved on without me, and so did Barney. I joined the army a few weeks after that. Didn’t really have anything else I could do.” He sighed and stretched the muscles in his legs out in front of him.

“You ever talk to him again?”

“Not really. Heard about him here or there, but nothing concrete. Never really thought it mattered much. All things considered. He left me behind, and there wasn’t really anything I could do except leave him behind as well.”

Standing up, Clint tugged on his shirt sleeves and twisted his spine to the left and right. Bucky slowly pushed himself to his feet as well. “I’m not leaving Steve behind,” he murmured. Clint froze. Then, with a careful turn of his head, he looked back at Bucky.

“This wasn’t an allegory on your life, Bucky. I didn’t have an ulterior motive.”

“Is it?” Bucky asked anyway, ignoring Clint’s back peddling. “Is me going to college leaving him behind?”

“No.” Clint said the word with so much conviction that Bucky almost recoiled from the shock of it.

“Listen to me. Steve? He’s hurting real bad. But you? You’re hurting real bad too. If there’s one thing the army and SHIELD has taught me, is that people have different ways of coping with the shit life puts them through. You’re both here. You’re both alive. And for better or for worse, you’re both together. You going to school? That isn’t a problem. You putting some distance between you two? Not a problem. You can’t carry Steve on your shoulders for the rest of your life, and he can’t do that for you either. You two need to be able to live on your own, and be your own people. If you can’t...you’re going to tear yourselves apart. You’re never going to heal. You’re never going to move on. You can lean on each other for help. You can be each other’s support, but you can’t be the only thing he lives for, and he can’t be that for you either. If you’re going to make it, Bucky, you’re going to make it because of you. Not him.”

For a moment, Bucky couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t a conscious choice. He just felt his breath leave his lungs and his mouth forget to inhale. He stared at Clint, and he heard his heart hammering in his ears. He felt as though the earth had shifted under his feet, unmooring him from reality in such a way that he wasn’t quite certain what was up anymore. It was so simple, and yet for the first time: it made sense.

Slowly, with great effort, he nodded his head. He breathed in.

“What are you living for, Bucky?” Clint asked him.

“Me,” Bucky replied. “I didn’t want anyone to know,” he continued. “I didn’t want anyone to know that it was me.”

“Why not?”

“Because...I didn’t want them to judge it because of my past. To judge it based on this...this fame that somehow I got caught up in. I didn’t want any of that. I just wanted them to treat it as it was. My music, my actions - I wanted them to be treated like everyone else.”

“Steve said last night that you were the best pianist he ever knew.”

“I’m the only pianist he ever knew.”

“Doesn’t change anything. He believes in you. And you’ve fought him tooth and nail to go to school. You made that choice. It was your choice to go, and you’re owning it. Every step of the way. You’ve made compromises, you’ve put your foot down, but at the end - it was your choice. Your music is yours. But it’s never going to be yours if you don’t own that too.” Bucky bit his lip. “You can go to school under whatever pseudonym you want, but it’s not going to change the fact that at the end of the day, after years of hard work - when you finally accomplish whatever dream you’ve set out to accomplish, when you look down at that piece of paper, it’s not going to be your name on that call sheet. It’s going to be a mask.”

“But the mask is easier,” Bucky murmured.

“It’s also a lot lonelier,” Clint replied. “You think that Steve’s going to be able to see you perform without drawing a crowd? You think Tony or Pepper are going to be able to go? Are you going to ban them from the audience? Because it’ll come out eventually. You know it will. And everyone’ll point fingers and ask why you wanted to hide.”

“It was a dream, wasn’t it?”

“A little bit,” Clint agreed. “But it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t matter what anyone says - you’re not getting into Juilliard unless you’re good. You wouldn’t have gotten that call back, unless you were good. You’re good, Bucky. You are good. No one else. And it’s not selfish, and it’s not leaving Steve behind. You both are good at things, and you both decided to pursue those things. But take it. It’s yours. Be yourself, Bucky. Sometimes being yourself is the hardest thing in the world. It’s easier to pretend to be different, but I promise you, it’s so much more rewarding when you’re you at the end of the day. Believe me.”

He did. He did believe him. Clint had made a career out of being whatever someone else wanted him to be. He’d nearly lost that career when someone else forced him to be a different person. Now, he was trying to reclaim that, and he was fighting tooth and nail to get it back.

“So who am I?” Bucky asked quietly.

“You’re Bucky Barnes,” Clint replied. “And only you can answer that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two weeks later, Bucky sat in a concert hall in Juilliard. He played his audition piece to the panel of experts who were going to decide his fate. He played every note exactly as he knew they should be played, and he let them linger just a touch longer because these notes were his. This was his piece. This was his opportunity. This was what being a pianist from the 1940s had meant to him. This was melancholy, and this was hope, and this was redemption, and he played his songs because they were his songs to play.

And as he played, he knew that he couldn’t be someone else. He couldn’t be whatever identity Pepper had drawn up for him. He couldn’t hide who he was. He had a 1930s education, piano experience from playing in bars during the war, and he had an identity crisis that spanned a century. He had been tortured, and he had been convinced he’d lose his life in the war, and he had lost nearly every person he cared about in an attempt to save the world.

The only thing he was proud about, was his music. Clint was right. As he played, he couldn’t hide himself. He couldn’t try to pretend. He couldn’t try to live up to whatever imagined history was invented for him. He was who he was, and he wasn’t going to shy away from it. Not now. Not ever.

When he finished playing, when he was led to a room to meet with the people who determined his fate at Juilliard, they introduced themselves one by one. He held out his hand. “I know the name you have on your call sheet, but I don’t want to pretend I’m someone I’m not. My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and I’ve wanted to be a student at Juilliard since 1923. Please give me a chance.”

 

They did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Have a question? Concern? Find me on tumblr: falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


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